Midnight Blues
by Blackberry Wine
Summary: Spike has returned after a months long asbence, broken and bloody. A new bounty threatens the forced peace on the Bebop. Edited a bit, so it's a little cleaner. My first fic, be kind. SxF.
1. Maybe Tomorrow

**Midnight Blues**

**1. Maybe Tomorrow**

Spike sat on the hard yellow couch watching the slowly circling blades of the ceiling fan as they sliced neatly through the thin stream of smoke that went curling upwards when he exhaled. He didn't know where the rest of the Bebop's crew was, nor did he really care. Jet was probably tending to his precious bonsai. Ed was undoubtedly tapping madly away at her Tomato, that, or she had devised some new and improved way to torment Ein. Spike almost felt bad for the little Corgi. He took a long drag on his cigarette, holding his breath for a moment before gently blowing the smoke away. Almost. As for the remaining member of their merry little band, she was no doubt gambling away her latest earnings playing slots or dice or betting on ponies or puppies. She had been gone for a week and a half, not that her absence was causing problems, after all, what with the slow period in the bounty business, he himself hadn't done much besides sleep, leaving his room only to eat, shower, work out a few kinks in his workout room or sit staring blankly at the ceiling fan in the little common room. Jet hadn't seemed too worried after having checked to see that all their cash and food were still where they were supposed to be.

"She'll be back," he'd said. "Just wait till she runs out of money and decides she's hungry."

Spike had been incredulous, but Jet had only shrugged and said, "She's too damn lazy to steal, especially when she knows she's got a free meal ticket."

Spike snorted quietly to himself. Typical Faye. The fan continued its monotonous course as he watched the blades from his vantage point, sprawled out on the couch down below. His thoughts drifted. Memories surfaced in his mind--a brief smile, a soft laugh, gunshots, screaming, golden hair framing deep blue eyes wide with pain and terror, an angel, his angle, his demon… a pair of pale blue eyes, pale skin, pale hair, a dark bird crowing coarsely into the chill night air, mocking him—

"Move over, lunkhead. There are other people on this ship, you know."

Spike closed his eyes, taking another drag. And here he'd thought his few moments of solitude would last a little longer. _Stupid_. "I see the cat realized what he'd dragged in and fled," he drawled, staying as he was. "Wish he'd given me a head start." He could almost see her, hip cocked, arms crossed, scowl marring her features. A self-satisfied smirk curved his lips slightly.

"What the hell? What ugly thing crawled up your ass this time?" Faye snapped, irritably.

"Well," he began, cracking one eye to squint up at her as she stood over him. "It has purple hair, green eyes, a bitchy attitude and a wardrobe that would make a hooker blush." He rose blowing a few smoke rings in her face as he passed her on the way to his room. He paused to crush the butt of his spent smoke in the ashtray on the small coffee table. "Don't get anything on my couch, woman," he said over his shoulder as he walked away, hands shoved in his pockets.

Faye gaped at his retreating figure, before cursing furiously. "Where the hell do you get off, you misbegotten son of a bitch! You're such a fucking _asshole_, Spike!" She shouted after him, her body rigid with anger and hurt, hands balled tightly into fists.

Spike turned as he reached the hatch leading to the part of the ship that housed their quarters, a sardonic smile gracing his handsome features. "So I hear," he said before disappearing through the hatch.

Faye scowled, dropping gracelessly onto the couch that had been so recently vacated. What the hell was his problem? She'd just gotten back; there hadn't been any time for her to do something deserving of such insults. She shook her head. Then again, Spike had never needed a reason to insult her; he seemed to view it as some form of entertainment. The bastard, it's not like she had disturbed him while he was doing something in the first place. Lying back to lounge on couch, she extended her full length over its hard plastic surface. One slim leg dangling over the far arm, she picked up the small remote and flicked the vid screen on the table to life.

_"--just apply cream to the area of infection twice daily for best res--"_

Click.

_"-- win it in the bottom of the ninth--!" _

Click.

_"--no, please don't leave, Pierre. I know you love Anna Bella Maria, but she's dead...Pierre! Pierre, NO!--" _

Click.

"—_now that the mushrooms are a light brown color, take them out of the pan and—"_

Click!

Faye grimaced, leaning forward to switch the unhelpful device off with a gunt. She glanced at the tiny clock in the corner of the screen: seven thirty-two in the morning. There was never anything decent on at this hour. Looking at the clock again, she was mildly surprised Spike was even awake. He usually remained entombed in his cell of a room until late afternoon before shuffling out looking like death warmed over after a bad day at the wig shop and disappearing into the shower for an hour. Then it was either badger Jet for food, a return shuffle to his room or a zombified stupor on the couch blowing smoke circles to be sautéed by the ceiling fan. It was way too early for him to be up.

Faye sighed again, rubbing her tired eyes. It hadn't been the same since the night he'd left, the very image of a tortured man with a battered soul. She and Jet had retreated into themselves, pretending everything was just as it had always been. Jet had continued to fret over his precious bonsai trees and serve what he liked to pretend was food and Faye ate it without complaint, or much else in the way of conversation. They had kept on hunting bounties, not having any other way to obtain money. Between jobs she had taken to spending hours sitting silently on the couch, simply staring, maybe because there wasn't anything else to do or maybe because it reminded her of him. After a few weeks Ed and Ein had disappeared and the remaining two members of the Bebop's crew had tried to hold on to the illusion of life as usual, but the ship had been too quiet, too big for just two people. The engines were a constant hum in the background, but the empty halls had magnified the void left by the loss of half the crew. Faye had begun miss Ed's insane antics, her maniacal faces, her songs, her games, her constant manic cheerfulness. She'd even felt a twinge of regret at the loss of Ein the little Welsh Corgi. But what had weighed most heavily on both her and Jet was the sudden absence of Spike Spiegel, and neither of them could quite understand why. Jet had considered the lanky man a partner, a friend even, hell, a _good _friend, but he had lost friends in the past, so why was losing this one so much worse? Faye had never gotten along with him. They'd fought and bickered incessantly like children from the moment she'd set foot on the old ship. She had been sure she'd be happy when he was gone for good, but when it had become apparent that he wasn't coming back, that he'd more than likely gone and let himself die, she'd slowly begun to drown in the void left by his absence.

And then one day he had nearly crashed the Swordfish on the Bebop's deck. She and Jet had run out in time to see him slip off his ship's ladder and collapse on the deck, a bloody awful broken mess. Neither Faye or Jet had had high hopes for his survival, but it was apparent that the man had someone looking out for him, for on the third week he had opened his mismatched eyes, looked up blearily into Faye's worried face, gave one pained groan and then passed out. Faye snorted at the memory. Typical Spike.

Arching her back, she stretched, a small groan escaping her lips as vertebrates popped loudly. _Whatever,_ she thought. _I don't even know why I bother patching him up every time he comes back abused. He's a useless lout in the first place. Hardly worth the air he breathes…_she closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep.

* * *

Spike stood in the dark of his workout room watching the stars, punching bag hanging beside him, a darker patch of darkness. He glanced at his watch, mid morning if they had been planet-side, but while they were in transit it would always be night with only the stars to light there way. He hadn't bothered with the light when he'd entered, the door shutting behind him with a soft hiss embracing him in cool darkness just as he liked it. The burning end of his cigarette glowed brightly, illuminating his face for an instant in a harsh red glow as he inhaled deeply, before dimming to a barely visible ruddy point as he lowered it from his lips. _These things are gonna kill me one day_… Exhaling the smoke from his lungs with a sigh he tapped the ashes onto the floor and flicked the smoldering butt off into a corner, a glowing red point arching off into the darkness leaving a dim trail of smoke in memory of its flight.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and stood silently contemplating the stars. It had been a long time since he'd stood there alone, in the dark, with none but the ghosts of the past for company. The last time had been the night he'd left to find out if he was truly alive. Spike chuckled humorlessly to himself, pushing the large punching bag gently and watched as it swung slowly back and forth. He had come in for a work out, to clear his thoughts, refocus his mind. Spike shrugged. _Maybe tomorrow. _The door opened with a hiss at the press of a button, and he made his way back to his quarters.

It was just as he'd left it the night before. Whatever Faye might have thought about his unusually early appearance on the couch that morning, the truth was that he had been sitting there all night. The long night had finally caught up with him and he kicked off his shoes, divested himself of his jacket, shirt and tie and fell back onto the rumpled bed. Lacing his fingers behind his head he breathed deeply and drifted off into dreamless sleep.

The sound of footsteps brought Faye out of her unconscious slumber. Recognizing the walker by his easy gate, she kept her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep as he moved past her position on the couch and down the hall. She sat up in time to see a mop of green hair disappearing round the bend of the corridor in the direction of the crew quarters. She rolled her eyes. _Stupid lunkhead is going to sleep his life away before he knows it._ The thought spurred her into action as if she had realized that she might sleep her life away before she knew it.

She paused as she walked through the echoing corridors of the ship, thinking. There really wasn't anything to do on the Bebop _but_ sleep, at least while it was on it's way somewhere. Her room was in relatively good repair and she saw no need to do any cleaning there; the Redtail had a few dings, but the Jet always managed to keep it running in good condition so she wasn't going to complain. Spike's workout room was not an option, seeing as how he would flay her alive if he found her there defiling his private space. She scowled, annoyed both at Spike for being the vandal that he was, and at herself for always letting him get to her. With a shrug, she headed off in the direction of Jet's bonsai room in the hopes that the old man might be there and in a good enough mood to be personable.

Jet sat quietly contemplating his trees. It had been a long time since he'd had the chance to see to his little friends, and it had taken a lot of tender love and care to get them back into some semblance of order. He had just finished pruning a particularly stubborn specimen and was admiring his handiwork when there was a knock on the door. He was surprised to find Faye standing in the doorway. She looked as if she was surprised to find herself there.

"Yeah?"

Faye blinked. "I, uh, I've got nothing to do, and…" she trailed off.

Jet stared at her. "Let me guess. You've gambled away all your money, and now you've come to ask senile old Jet if you can borrow some of his. Well the answer is no." He said flatly and turned back to his trees.

Faye frowned. "No, actually that's not why I came—"

Jet didn't have to feign his surprise. "It's not?"

"No, Jet, it's not, but since I seem to be bothering you, oh great and powerful master of all things green, I'll leave you to your precious plants," she said and stalked out of the room. _Men! Do they make a point of being complete jerks all the time or is that just their natural state!_

"Faye!"

She turned and glared at Jet, who was leaning out of the doorway and rubbing his prosthetic metal hand over the smooth surface of his bald head. Faye had to suppress a giggle at the sudden image of Jet with a rag, polishing his head in the mirror until it gleamed. "What."

"I, uh, sorry," he began, looking slightly abashed, an expression that did not fit on his hard features. "Would you like to, ah, help me with the…bonsai?" The question seemed to cause him a great deal of pain as he said it.

Faye was shocked. Jet never let anyone touch those trees. Not anyone. Ever. "Are you, are you sure?"

Jet suddenly looked very unsure, and seemed to be regretting his move considerably. "Uh, yeah, sure. Just…just do what I say and don't, don't cut anything."

Faye smiled as she walked back into the room. She and Jet had become closer during the long period of Spike's absence. They had rarely spoken, but the shared loss had created a bond between the two crewmates that Faye had grown to cherish. Jet was a hard, grizzled old dog, but he had a sweet streak that had pretty much been the only thing that had kept her going. She smiled as she sat down beside him on the long bench before the little bonsai forest and took the watering can that Jet handed her. Now she understood why Jet spent so much time in there. The hours passed as minutes as the two tended to the tiny trees in silence, Jet snipping the occasional branch or testing the soil and Faye watering here and there at his direction. When they finally finished the ship was nearly dark. The ships systems automatically dimmed the lights to mimic the effect of being planet-side. Faye made her way to her bed and was asleep within minutes, images of little green trees floating through her mind.


	2. Monster

**Midnight Blues**

**2. Monster**

Faye took her time getting out of bed. She had always hated waking up in space, because out in the cold expanses between stars there was no morning. There was just one long, never-ending night as they floated through the emptiness. It made her feel tiny, unimportant. She grimaced. Contemplation of human insignificance was never a good way to start the day. A yawn overtook her as she stretched sleep leaden limbs.

Gathering up the necessary items, she made her way to the bathroom, footsteps echoing through the metal corridors of the ship. The unpleasant taste in her mouth spurred her to brush her teeth, relishing in the refreshing minty flavor. Stripping down, she turned on the shower. The water was hot, just like she liked it. She stepped in with a tiny gasp as the hot water hit her skin, slowly relaxing tense muscles. She had grown accustomed to having hot showers when Spike had gone. In the past he had always gotten to the shower before her, using up all the hot water so that she had had to suffer through a cold wash. She had thought it would go back to the way it had been before when he finally came back, but instead she found that the once infuriatingly driven man she had known was gone, replaced by a man empty of all motivation. What had happened to him when he was gone? Something terrible by the look of him when he had returned, but he had fended off any and all questions about what he had gone through during his absence with frustrating nonchalance. The crew of the Bebop had gone back to pretending everything was the same as it had always been, but the forced normality hung precariously in the balance. Faye shrugged. It didn't matter. What mattered was that she was there, in the hot shower that was not going to stay hot for very much longer.

The bathroom was full of steam when she finally stepped out from under the stream of water and shut it off. Her reflection was a dark splash in the fogged mirror as she dried herself and dressed. She stopped by her quarters to drop off her things and then idly made her way to the kitchen in search of sustenance. It was empty of both life and her quarry. She made a mental note to badger Jet into going on a supply run, but then she remembered that they did not have the money to do so. With a disgruntled sigh, she mentally tore up the note and burned it, watching the pieces blacken and curl, before making a new note to badger Jet into finding them some bounties. After searching the entire galley she managed to locate some instant coffee and some suspiciously lumpy powdered milk. Her stomach gurgled apprehensively.

"I know what you mean," she muttered dryly as she headed off with her prize to find Jet.

* * *

Spike awoke slowly. He was sprawled on his stomach, head half buried under a pillow, one arm dangling over the side of the bed. Yawning, he pushed himself up into a sitting position on the edge of his bed and rubbed sleep-fogged eyes. Leaning down he rummaged through the pile of rumpled clothes on the floor coming up with a dented box of smokes and a lighter. A rumble in his stomach reminded him how long it had been since he'd last eaten. Slipping the lighter into his pocket, he made his way towards the galley of the Bebop in the hopes that maybe Jet had made something palatable for breakfast. He padded down the hallway, bare feet making hardly a sound as he passed through the chill corridors of the ship.

The galley when he reached it was devoid of all forms of life. Spike scratched the back of his neck and padded over to the refrigerator. It, like the kitchen, was empty. A long time ago he seemed to remember the thing being used to hold food. Now it seemed that the old relic was being kept on the ship for nostalgia's sake alone. His stomach grumbled again.

The sound of footsteps alerted him to the presence of another life form, and from the sound of it, one with two legs and— "Well if it isn't sleeping ugly."—an attitude.

Spike groaned. There was no way he was going to stick around long enough to listen to the shrew woman's bitching. A morning person he was not, and that particular morning was no exception. Putting an unlit cigarette in his mouth and shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned away from the empty refrigerator and began to walk out of the galley. "It's too early for this."

"Early? Do you have any idea what time it is?" Faye snickered, hopping up to sit on the dining table, a steaming mug of coffee in her hands. "No I don't suppose you do. Looking at a clock would take too much effort."

Spike shot her a dirty look.

"Are you going to light that?" she asked, gesturing to the unlit smoke dangling from his lips. "It's not gonna light itself, you know. I never thought you could be _that _lazy."

Spike looked down at the cigarette in his mouth, eyes crossing comically sending Faye into a fit of giggles. "Whatever," he muttered, lighting the slim white cigarette with practiced ease. "I'm gonna find something to eat."

"Good luck, lunkhead. I've already combed the ship through and through. But I wouldn't be surprised if you managed to come up with something. You know what they say…Men only think with their stomachs and their—"

"Faye," Spike cut her off. "Shut up."

"Awww, no need to get touchy." Faye smirked, enjoying the fact that she was the cause of the annoyance written across the lanky bounty hunter's face. "I was just stating a well known fact."

The nagging hunger in Spike's stomach had grown more insistent as the minutes passed. His eyes flickered to the mug in her hands. There was nothing for it. Suppressing his mind's immediate cries of horror, he took a quick drag and sauntered slowly towards his female crewmate, mismatched eyes never leaving hers. Before she realized what he was doing he had pinned her against the kitchen table with his body and placed a hand on either side of her, effectively trapping her there.

Faye looked up at him furiously. "What the fuck? Just what in the hell do you think you're doing!" she demanded, leaning away from him, unable to escape.

He lowered his head so that his breath tickled her neck. _"Thinking."_ He whispered into her ear, leaning into her suggestively.

Faye gaped, and then he was gone walking towards the common room. "Bastard!_"_ she shouted at his back.

Spike turned, smirking like a cat. "Awww, no need to get touchy," he mocked her. "Oh, and thanks for the coffee, by the way." He winked as toasted her with the mug he had liberated from her.

Faye glanced down at her hands, fury building inside her. The mug was indeed gone. Straightening, Faye stalked out of the kitchen after the object of her fury and found him lounging, as usual, on the yellow couch calmly sipping his coffee. _Her _coffee! The man drove her crazy and he knew it.

"I'm going to count down from three." She grated dangerously as she stood over him.

"I'm proud of you, Faye. I never knew you could count that far," he drawled, looking up at her mildly and taking a sip of the coffee. He could see the color rising in her cheeks, could see the anger dancing perilously in her green eyes.

"Three…" Faye growled ignoring the jibe, her voice shaking with barely suppressed rage. "Two…" Her hands balled into fists. "One…" Spike could see the muscles working in her jaw as she clenched her teeth.

"Ding." He winked.

With an incoherent shriek Faye launched herself at Spike, who leapt up in an attempt to avoid the wild attack, but was too slow. She caught him around the waist sending them both toppling backwards over the side of the couch and onto the floor. The bite of the cold metal on his bare skin made Spike hiss as he landed on his back with a loud smack. Faye fell atop him and pinned him below her with her legs.

"HA!" she cried, holding up the mug triumphantly. "That'll teach you to—" Faye frowned. The mug was empty.

"Ahem."

Both Faye and Spike froze looking up in the direction of the sound. Jet stood, arms crossed, eyes narrowed with an angry scowl painted on his craggy features. There was a large dark stain running down the front of his shirt. It was steaming slightly.

"Faye, I just thought you might like to hear about our next bounty." Jaw muscles worked as he clenched his teeth. "So when you two are finished, I'll be with my bonsai," he growled, before stalking off muttering darkly about idiots and rampaging hormones.

"Jesus, Faye! Get the hell off of me!" Spike gritted through clenched teeth as he shoved her away. "I'll be dead before I'm that desperate, " he sneered as he turned to follow Jet.

"Well since you seem to have a bit of a death wish, it looks like your desperation might get the better of you!" she shouted at his retreating figure as she stood, rubbing her shoulder. The bastard had thrown her straight into the table.

"Don't you wish! I bet you dream about it when you're alone at night," he leered at her. " Do you imagine me touching you?" He stalked back towards her. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you like it, Faye, when I fuck you?"

Faye stood, back straight, glaring at him and slapped him hard across the face. "Don't get your hopes up, cowboy," she shoved past him. "And don't do me any favors, either. I think I'd do better on my own, anyway."

She didn't wait to hear his clever response, or to find out if he even had one. Instead, she headed towards Jet and his bonsai, hoping that he wouldn't be too angry that she had splattered him with hot coffee.

Spike stood for a moment silently fuming as he watched her disappear down the corridor. That bitch. He put a hand to his stinging cheek. She hadn't just hit him in the face with that one; she had bruised his ego to boot. _Hellbitch,_ he thought sourly as he followed her after Jet.

"Oh come on, Jet, let me handle this one! It's an easy job. Just look at the guy!" Spike said, waving the picture of a slender man with shoulder length blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Absolutely out of the question," Jet said, crossing his arms. "She's going with you, and that's that. This one has got to be a team effort. We can't afford to miss." He glared at Spike.

"You said yourself this guy, this…Timothy Sanders," he said glancing down at the picture, "is just a bank robber and an escape artist. Jet, it isn't necessary—"

"This isn't just some chance for you to showboat your skills, Spike."

Spike narrowed his eyes. "Whatever you say, old man, but when she screws up, don't come complaining to me," he said, crossing his arms defiantly. "I at least _have _skills to showboat."

"Excuse me, I'm right here," Faye cut in, annoyed. "I did have to handle jobs while you were gone, Spike, or have you forgotten that little episode already?"

"Faye," Jet growled, voice rising in a tone of warning. She leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms sulkily. "Like goddamn children," he muttered darkly.

"So what's so bad about this guy?" Spike finally asked after a moment of tense silence.

Jet gave Spike a look. "Timothy Sanders is ex-military." Spike stared at him blankly. "He knows what he's doing, Spike."

"Ok, _and?_"

Jet rolled his eyes. "He's a serial bank-buster, master escape artist—"

"Yeah, we _know _and are thus far unimpressed. Get to the point here, Jet."

"I don't get it, Spike. Did you just wake up one morning and decide you were going to be the biggest prick in the sector?" Jet scowled.

"Yeah, what's going on with you?" Faye added after him.

"No and nothing, get on with it," Spike said impatiently.

Jet looked unconvinced as he leafed through file in his hands. "Besides being wanted on thirty six counts of armed robbery," Spike let out a low whistle. "He's wanted on twenty one counts of murder one and five of rape." Two pairs of eyes fixed on Jet. "The rape charges are for the victims he left for dead that managed to survive."

There was a moment of silence.

"How much is he worth?"

"One hundred and seventy-five million."

Both Spike and Faye stared at Jet. "One hundred and seventy-five _million?_"

"Woolongs?" Faye asked, shocked.

"No, candy bars, idiot," Spike snapped.

Faye shot him a dirty look.

"This guy is dangerous," Jet interjected before the two could start a new battle. "And he has a very distinctive MO. You might want to take a look." He handed the file to Spike who scanned his eyes down the page.

"Jesus…" he whispered, eyes going wide.

"Fancies himself a master of anthropomancy," Jet went on quietly. "He reads the future in the entrails of his victims," Faye paled, one hand covering her mouth in horror. "While they're still alive," Faye let out a muffled groan as she closed her eyes. "And then he rapes them, whether they're alive or not."

"And how are we supposed to bring this guy down?" Spike asked, looking slightly sick as he handed the file to Faye.

"That's where the teamwork comes in," he said, looking at Faye. "We need someone who can get close enough to him to bring him down."

"You mean you need bait," Faye whispered, eyes fixed on the glossy photographs of past victims in the file.

"Faye—"

"Don't you try to sugar coat this, Jet!" Faye shouted, looking very pale. "Neither of you think I can pull my weight around here, and now you're going to send me into the dragon's lair. It's a win-win situation, isn't it? If I pull it off you're one hundred and seventy five million in the green and if I fuck up and he guts me like a fish, hey, at least you're rid of me!" Her voice broke on the last syllable as she stood, shaking.

"Faye—"

"NO!" She screamed and fled, tears pouring down her ashen cheeks.

Both Spike and Jet stood silently staring at the door through which Faye had so recently bolted as her footsteps receded down the corridor. "What…the hell?" Spike ran a hand through his mop of green hair. "I told you to just let me handle this one, Jet."

"Spike, you saw the file, you know that's not possible. They guy is only interested in women."

"Can't we just drop in on him and shoot him while he's surprised or something?"

Jet shook his head. "No. Four of those murders were bounty hunters that tried to do just that. He made them wish they had been one of his female victims. The guy's a psychopath."

Spike's expression turned sour. "I guess we'll have to do it your way, if you can get the shrew woman to cooperate, that is."

Jet scowled at Spike. "You know, she handled a fare number of tough jobs while you were off on your little spirit quest, Spike. She can handle herself pretty damn well."

It was Spike's turn to scowl.

"Now we're going to go talk to her about this job, so keep a civil tongue in your head or I'll throw you off this ship for good, you hear me?"

* * *

Faye leaned against the door when it had closed and buried her face in her hands. It had been a long time, such a long time since… She shoved the memories away, unable to bare the pain and revulsion they brought with them. Throwing herself on her bed, she curled into the fetal position hugging her pillow as if it were a life preserver. She shuddered.

There was no way they were going to make her play the bait. No way in hell. She had thought the name was familiar when Jet had first mentioned it, but hadn't been sure until she had seen the images of the torn and mangled bodies of his victims. Yes, she knew this man. She knew what he was capable of, and the relish he took in practicing his "art." Faye felt the urge to vomit, the corrosive taste of bile burning her throat. She would not, would never again face those brilliantly blue eyes. She would kill herself first.

There was a knock on the door. She didn't answer.

"Faye?" It was Jet.

"Go away."

"Faye, we need to talk about this."

"I said go away!" she screamed suddenly, leaping from her bed and bursting through the door. "I will not put myself in that position! Never! Never again! I will not face him again…" she trailed off, hugging herself as tears began to roll down her cheeks. "I wont… I can't…please, don't make me face him again…"

Spike had shock written all over his face, while Jet looked extremely concerned. "Faye, what are you talking about? You know this guy?"

"Know him! He, he…"

"Faye," Jet put a hand on her slightly shaking shoulder. "Faye, what happened?"

"If this is just some act because she's too scared to do the job—"

"Shut the hell up or get out," Jet snarled.

"Whatever," Spike replied, leaning indifferently against the wall and lighting a cigarette.

"A few years ago I was working a black jack table in a casino on Mars. There was a girl who worked the table with me, a friend of mine, we were roommates, and she was a favorite among the men who used to come in. One day a guy came in, long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, dressed in a white suit that seemed to glow. He stopped at our table." Faye's eyes had glazed over as she recounted the tale. "He said his name was Damien Locke. I didn't find out his real name until after…"

"After what, Faye?" Jet prompted her gently.

"He played a few hands…high roller. Lost a lot more than he won, but that smile never left his face. It started to creep me out. And then he told Cindy she was the most beautiful woman in the solar system and invited her to have a few drinks with him when her shift was over." She paused, taking a shaky breath. "I tried to warn her, but she wouldn't listen. He was beautiful," she whispered.

"Well if he knows who you are, you can't do the job." Spike said from his position on the wall. "Your lucky day."

Jet sent Spike an angry look of exasperation. "For chrissake, Spike. Have a little—"

"He doesn't know me."

Both men turned to look at Faye in surprise. "But you said—"

"Our employer had a bit of a sense of humor," Faye chuckled humorlessly. "Cindy had long black hair, deep, dark, almond shaped eyes… he liked to play us off like two sides of a coin, you know, duality. I wore a blonde wig, blue contacts and a white dress…" she said ignoring Spike's look of incredulity. "Her dress was black and…when we weren't working the tables, he liked to walk the floors, one of us on each arm, touting us as the little angel and demon at his shoulders." Her lips curled derisively. "Ebony and Ivory, he called us."

Spike snorted, "Some angel you turned out to be."

Faye's eyes snapped up in sudden anger. "I'll do it," she said glaring at Spike defiantly.

Jet looked surprised. "What?"

"I'll do it! I'll fucking do it! You didn't see what he did to her! She was still alive when I found her in our apartment. She was trying to put her intestines back inside her body, but she'd lost too much blood. She died before the medics could get there." She rounded on Spike. "And don't you fucking get in my way, asshole, or you'll wish Sanders had gotten a hold of your skinny ass." And with that she stormed away down the hall.

Jet's eyes were round with shock. "Well, that was…interesting…"

"I think she suffers from multiple personalities," Spike muttered as he finished his cigarette, tossing the spent butt through the door into Faye's room.


	3. Buena Vista

**Midnight Blues **

**3. Buena Vista**

"So where are we going?"

"Mars."

"Sanders is on Mars?" Spike asked incredulously as the three of them sat round the table in the kitchen. "Mars is a hot spot for bounty hunters, not to mention the Syndicates. If this guy is as big a game as you say he is, Mars is the last place he would be."

Jet shrugged. "I don't know why he's on Mars, I just know that he is on Mars." He slid a sheet of paper to Spike across the table.

Spike grunted.

"So what's the plan?" asked Faye. "You do have a plan, don't you?"

"Sanders has very expensive tastes: cars, restaurants, hotels, entertainment. My buddy down at ISSP says he'll be attending the fiftieth anniversary of the Jade Dragon Kabuki Theater in Tharsis." Spike whistled. "After the performance there will be a celebration of the ninetieth birthday Yoichi Tanaka, the owner of the Jade Dragon," he looked at Faye. "And that's where you come in."

"Wait, wait. So Faye gets all dolled up, gets him to take her to this ball thing, lures him out into the open and we grab him?"

"Something like that."

"That's it?" Spike sounded skeptical. "That seems a bit simplistic."

"Well if we're going to put it into easy enough terms for you to understand, it would have to be," Jet shot back getting annoyed.

"So what's the complicated version?" Faye asked.

Jet pulled out a map of Tharsis. "The Bebop will land here," he said, pointing to a set of docks just inside the city as Spike and Faye leaned forward to get a better look. "You two will go separately and meet up before the performance to touch bases. Spike, I want you to land on the roof of the Aquatics International building here and Faye, you do whatever you need to do." Faye nodded. "Once inside, I want you to find Sanders and…get yourself noticed." Spike snorted. Faye ignored him. "Spike will be tailing you to make sure everything is going smoothly—"

"Whoa, whoa. I'm her backup?"

Jet closed his eyes with a long-suffering sigh. "Spike, you're there in case something goes wrong. You can think of it as backup if you want, I frankly don't really care. I just care about getting this bounty."

Spike crossed his arms sulkily.

"Good," Jet said pulling another map onto the table. It was the floor plans of the Jade Dragon. "I want you two to memorize the location of every security camera, every door, hallway, corridor, bathroom, broom closet, every possible entrance or exit to the building, everything. We can't afford any surprises."

The two younger hunters listened intently as Jet detailed what would happen once the performance had ended. Faye was to accompany Sanders to the celebratory ball at Tanaka's upscale mansion and Spike would follow them there. Once they arrived Faye would pull her gun, Spike would take him out and Jet would come pick him up. They all new there was small margin for error on a high profile case like this.

"We have to keep this clean," Jet said firmly. "Keep property damage and civilian casualties to a minimum, all right?"

The younger pair nodded.

"Good. We'll reach Mars in approximately three days. I would suggest getting started on those maps," Jet said and left the kitchen.

Faye and Spike sat at the table in silence contemplating the maps strewn over the table in front of them. Faye watched her callous comrade out of the corner of her eye, wondering what had happened to him to make him the way he was. She took in the tan, handsome face, the mismatched eyes, the mop of hair that managed to somehow accentuate his good looks rather than diminish them. He had been a different man when he had returned to the Bebop, darker, more reclusive than before. While it was true that they had never gotten along well, it now seemed that his jibing insults came from somewhere deeper, more personal. She tried to think of what she might have said or done that might have given him cause to hate her, but could not come up with anything awful enough to warrant the treatment she was receiving.

"Hey! Hello?" Spike said loudly, kicking her chair and snapping her out of her reverie. "You awake in there?"

Faye looked at him in silence.

"What, do I have something on my face?" He asked, smirking slightly. "Or do you just like what you see?"

"Oh for chrissake, Spike." Faye shot him a disgusted look. "Does your ego ever shut off?" She closed the file she was holding and stood abruptly. "Now if your worship doesn't mind, I'll be…elsewhere." Spike's eyes followed her as she left the room.

Faye sighed as she walked through the ship. The file under her arm was thick with photographs and police reports. _You think he'll be done PMS-ing by the time I finish reading you?_ She hefted the file in her hands. _Ugh, unlikely._

* * *

"Bloody hell! Come on, you filthy machine! I know you know what I want—_what!_ ERROR? What do you mean error!" The blinking screen did not respond. "I'll give you error! Take that, you piece of junk! _What? _Damn it!"

"Uh, Jet? Everything ok?" Faye asked as she walked into the common room file in hand.

Jet shot the machine a disgusted look. "I'm trying to disable the auto-tracking systems so that we can get into Tharsis without having to register our location."

"Is that really necessary?"

"Well, no, but it might give us a little bit of an edge if no one knows we're there."

"Why would anyone even know to look for us?"

Jet scratched his head. "I don't know…someone might."

Faye sat down beside him. "Well why don't you have Edward do it?"

Jet sighed. "Normally I would, but that's part of the problem. " Faye looked at him questioningly. "Ed's gone again."

"What?"

"She left a note…of sorts." He handed her a large sheet of paper covered with what looked like hieroglyphs written in garish orange crayon.

"You can read this?" Faye asked, looking at the scribbles from different angles, unable to tell where to start.

Jet shook his head and shrugged. "I think it says something like, 'New Spike person mean. We go fly nicer peppermint.'"

Faye chuckled. "I don't blame her."

"Trouble is, we really could use her right about now." Jet said, rubbing his head.

"We'll have to make do without her. Knowing Ed, she'll probably show up magically when we least expect her to with a suitcase full of contraband licorice and a bounty head tied up in a box."

Jet tugged at his beard. "I hope you're right." The computer screen on the table continued to flash its error message alarmingly. "You planning on a little light reading?" Jet asked motioning to the file on Faye's lap.

"Ha, yeah, light reading, thanks for reminding me." She stood and stretched. "Don't hurt yourself there, old-timer."

"Yeah, yeah."

* * *

Faye leaned back in the cockpit of the Redtail examining one of the many reports strewn about the small space. The past hour had gone by slowly, dragging its feet, as she read report after report, each one more gruesome than the last. With half the reports in a pile on the floor, she was beginning to be thankful that she had missed dinner. The last report had sent her stomach lurching at the detailed description of what had been done to the victim before she had managed to die. Faye had to admit, the guy was creative.

Yawning, she stretched cramped limbs. The Redtail was not the best place for late night reading, but with Spike stroking his own ego in the kitchen and Jet threatening death upon the computer in the common room, there hadn't been anywhere for her to go besides her room and she needed a change of scenery. Rubbing her tired eyes with the heel of her hand, she set the report on the floor with its brothers and sisters. She had spent entirely too much time sitting in the same position and now her back was starting to complain.

"Damnit," she muttered to herself, massaging now aching shoulders and neck. "No more. I'll read the rest of you tomorrow."

Flicking on her ship's com, she flipped through frequencies until the quiet strains of Latin guitar filled the space. She had always loved Latin music, favoring the sound of the single guitar with no accompaniment. When she had first met Cindy they had both been waitressing at a small Cuban restaurant in New Spain, a small province on Europa, one of Jupiter's moons. There had been a musician who would come every night to play his guitar and sing. No one knew where he came from, or what he did for a living, for he would never accept payment for his music. All he ever asked for in return for his service was a meal and good company. Faye smiled at the memory. Carlos. He had been a grizzled old man with skin like leather, long black hair braided down his back and an elegant mustache. He had spent almost as much time telling them stories from old Spain, from before the gate accident, as he did playing. He had been a little boy when the gate had been destroyed and he had kept the stories of his family and country alive by passing them on to whoever had been willing to listen. Cindy and Faye had always been willing to listen.

Faye turned the small cockpit light off and climbed out onto the wing of her ship. Bathed in the blue glow of the cockpit instruments, she lit a cigarette as the sinuous guitar rhythms washed over her. A deep raspy voice added its tenor to the mournful play of the guitar. It reminded her of Carlos. He had been a father figure to her as she struggled to acclimate herself to the strikingly different landscape of a future she should not have been a part of.

The cool darkness of the hangar coupled with the sensuous music and the memories that came with it relaxed her as she leaned back against the body of her ship, one leg dangling over the edge of the wing. She closed her eyes as a trumpet wove its brassy voice into the music. Faye smiled. Carlos would have been furious. She could almost see him sitting at the bar brandishing a corn tortilla at her and saying in his deep raspy tenor, _'The trumpet is an arrogant instrument. He is always trying to be louder than the others. When Trumpet was young, _he would say taking a bite from his dinner,_ 'he had a little voice for his size. The other instruments were always teasing him for this. This made Trumpet angry. It was not his fault that his voice was small. One day, a beautiful little girl found trumpet crying by a river. 'What is wrong?' she asked him. He let out a mournful cry so full of sadness that it tore at the little girl's soul and so she took him to her father who was a master blacksmith and he made trumpet a new, bigger voice. When Trumpet returned to his friends, he pretended his voice was still small and they began to laugh at him. Then he let out a great shout, shocking all the others into silence. From then on, trumpet has always been trying to prove himself. You see? That is why trumpet should never be coupled with the guitar. She is soft and beautiful, not to be bullied by the brassy men…_ She sighed quietly as tears began to form at the corners of her eyes at the memory. Carlos had loved telling his stories...

The hatch at the far end of the hangar opened with a hiss, a pool of light gathering before it. Faye froze. She could just make out a tall lanky figure silhouetted in the light pouring through the entrance. _Shit!_ She cursed herself, wiping furiously at her tearing eyes. _Shitshitshit! _The figure hadn't moved. _What are you doing, Spike? Don't just stand there muttering to yourself, _move _or something. Go back through the hatch,_ she coaxed silently. _Turn around and go back where you came from, come on, you can do it…_

Spike heard faint music drifting towards him from the darkness. _Looks like old Jet is getting senile and leaving his music on. _He cocked his head to the side, listening. "Since when do you like Latin, Jet?" he asked himself as he quietly made his way through the dark hangar.

The figure shut the hatch with a clang and was swallowed by darkness. She lunged for the com system, switching off the music, suddenly terrified that he should find her there. _What's wrong with me? _She thought desperately, eyes wide in near panic as she slid silently down her ship's ladder to the floor.

Spike stopped as the music abruptly stopped. "Hello?"

There was no answer.

"Jet? Are you still in here?"

Somewhere off in the darkness there was a crash and a hissed curse.

Faye bit her fist in an effort to keep from crying out in pain as her other hand clutched the knee she had just smashed into a table laden with tools that had lay hidden in the shadows as she tried to creep out of the hangar without Spike's detection. _Damndamndamndamndamn…_ She squeezed her eyes shut, as more tears slid down her cheeks.

"Faye?" he called out into the blackness of the hangar. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness but he could only just make out the shadowy shapes of the three small ships looming out of the gloom. "I know you're in here, Faye. Come on," he said as he began to walk silently in the direction of the hissed oath. Without warning something warm and soft bumped into him, leaped back with an undignified squeak and crashing to the floor with a yelp of pain.

"Jesus…watch where you're going! For fuck's sake…" _I squeaked. Someone please tell me I didn't just squeak! Oh god I just squeaked like a little girl who's afraid of the dark…and in front of him…I'll never hear the end. _Faye was grateful for the darkness that hid her burning cheeks.

Spike chuckled quietly to himself. "You all right?"

"What do you care?" Came the tart reply.

"Fine, suit yourself. What are you doing in here anyway?"

"I fail to see how that's any of your concern," she mimicked him as she stood. "Some of us enjoy a little time away from that which causes us aggravation." She sighed, wiping her tearstained cheeks with the back of her hand with a sniffle. "I was reading up on our mark, you know, like Jet asked us to?"

"Are you crying?" Spike asked suddenly concerned, noticing the tearful tone in her voice.

Faye glared at him through the darkness. "What the hell, Spike? A minute ago you're throwing shit in my face like I shot your best friend and your girlfriend and now you're concerned for my well-being? Do you switch personalities when the lights go out or something?"

Spike winced at her analogy, thankful that the darkness hid his reaction. "Fuck off, Faye," he grumbled halfheartedly. He heard her hiccup tearfully as she began to climb up to the main level of the hangar.

"Faye?" he said quietly.

She sniffled. "What."

He hesitated, not quite sure what he had wanted to say to her, or how to say it. "You, uh, I mean, I…ah…" He floundered for a moment. "You have any smokes?" He finished lamely.

Faye sniffled as she threw him a dented box.

"Thanks," he whispered as she turned away and left the dark hangar.


	4. Hard Raspberries

**Midnight Blues**

**4. Hard Raspberries**

Spike sat on the stairs in the cold, dark hangar, alone. In the darkness he didn't have to see what he was becoming. He didn't have to see the sullen twist in his lips, the jaded look in his eyes or the hurt in the others whenever he was near. He could feel that there was something dark trapped inside of him that wanted to come out. He couldn't let that happen. Already it was beginning to take hold of him, ever since he had let it out that night he had killed Vicious, when Julia had died. He had vowed never to let that monster see the light of day again, but he had somehow managed to stay alive and now it had had a taste of freedom and it was hungry. The tip of his cigarette glowed faintly in the darkness as it dangled loosely in his hand.

Spike leaned back against the stairs and closed his eyes as the chill air stole the heat from his body. He could feel the beast inside him pacing restlessly, lashing its tail.

"There once was a tiger striped cat…" Spike muttered, drawing on his cigarette.

He had wanted to apologize to Faye, never having meant to lash out at her in the first place, but the beast had gotten away from him. He cursed himself silently. He never should have gone. He never would have awakened this new part of him and…and Julia would still be alive. Living without her and not knowing her to be alive was better than living without her and knowing her to be dead and that it was his fault. The beast snarled at him, laughing maliciously at his weakness. _Shut up, she would have died if you had been there anyway. _The beast laughed again in denial. Spike shoved it aside angrily as it howled at him. This was what separated him from men like Vicious, men like Sanders. He would not become one of them. He had to keep his demons locked away, or risk becoming one with them.

"Julia, please forgive me," he whispered.

He deftly lit another one of Faye's cigarettes and took a long slow pull, letting the nicotine seep slowly into his blood easing the stress from his tense body. It tasted vaguely of mint. After a moment Spike stood and crossed carefully through the darkness to where the Swordfish stood, its wings folded like a sleeping raptor. Hopping lightly up into the cockpit and clicking on a small light, he flipped open a hidden side panel and pulled out a glass bottle of amber liquid. He stared at it for a moment, turning it over and watching the liquid sloshing inside it; liquid courage, or in his case, liquid amnesia. He reached in the little hole, pulled out two similar bottles and slid them into the inside pocket of his dark blue jacket. His hand brushed the familiar metal of his Jericho. It was warm from the heat of his body._ I wont be needing you tonight, my friend,_ he thought slipping silently out of his ship and down onto the hangar floor.

The common room was empty and dark when he reached it, the bottle in his hand already half empty. He sank down onto the couch with a sigh, enjoying the pleasantly warm fuzzy sensation spreading throughout his long body. Taking another long drink he winced as the fiery liquid burned a path down his throat and slumped back against the couch with a grunt.

"Let's play a drinking game, shall we?" he said to the bottle. "How about every time Julia dies I take a drink and every time your past bothers you," he paused, eyes slightly unfocused. "I take another drink." Spike stared down into the swirling amber liquid for a moment. He took a deep breath, tipped back his head and swallowed the remaining liquor.

"Christ…" he muttered, coughing slightly as the burning in his stomach intensified. Deciding that drinking an entire bottle of Jack Daniels on an empty stomach may not have been the best plan and that he would really rather pass out on his bed than in the middle of the common room, he lurched up off the couch, weaving slightly, and began to stumble down the hall to his room. Inside he shook off his jacket, careful not to damage the remaining bottles and slid down the cold metal wall until he hit the floor, long lanky legs stretched out before him.

"Cheers," he muttered, toasting his ghosts with a newly opened bottle, forgetting the already empty bottle that was rolling away from him and under his bed. "Mmm, razzberry…" he slurred, gazing drunkenly at the bottle in his unsteady hand. He frowned. "Shtill tastes like…shitthough…ras..berries…dun't do…shit…" He caught himself as he began to fall to the side. "Christ," he grunted as the room swam before his eyes. "Stay…su-still..Damnit…" Suddenly the floor came rushing at him and all he saw was black.

"NO!" Faye sat bolt upright in bed, sweaty hair plastered to her glistening face and neck. She buried her face in her hands. "Fuck…" It had been the second night in a row she had dreamt of finding Cindy the night Sanders had killed her, the second night she had woken in the middle of the night, sweating and shaking, unable to clear the horrific images from her mind.

Spike opened his eyes blearily. He was slumped over on his side, somehow having managed to keep the bottle he was clutching upright. It must have been a reflex or something. Sitting up slowly, he ran an unsteady hand through his damp hair. The temperature in the room seemed to have shot up, leaving him dizzy and slick with sweat. Setting the bottle on the floor with the care reserved for a priceless object of infinite importance, he struggled with his damp shirt.

"Fucking…buthons…" He sat and fumbling with the buttons of his shirt until he had enough undone that he could simply pull the offending garment over his head, a task that proved to be far from simple in his inebriated state. "M'never gone wear that damn shirt aghain," he proclaimed as he made a grab for the open bottle beside him and missed. "Don't do that," he scolded and managed to capture his quarry. "Ha, gotcha."

Using the wall as a support, he stood slowly, careful not to let the bed that was leaping around the room hit him. He lunged for the wildly moving door and nearly fell out onto the corridor floor. Halfway to the common room and more than halfway through his second bottle of liquor, he could not remember where he was, where he was going, or why he had wanted to go there in the first place. Not daring to stop lest his legs give out for good leaving him stranded in this never ending steel passage, he continued to stumble down the hallway leaning heavily on the wall. Hours seemed to pass before he reached his heavenly yellow couch. He slumped down on its welcoming yellow surface and toppled onto the hard metal floor.

Faye hissed at the bite of the cold metal floor against her bare feet. Having been unable to find any clean socks, she had been forced to make the pilgrimage to the kitchen with her feet unprotected. Jet had been able to flag down a trading vessel bound for Earth and had managed to acquire some greatly needed supplies. What he had given them in return, she could only guess, but she knew for sure that she was headed for the kitchen where there was a cup of coffee with her name on it.

Stumbling sleepily into the common room she found it unsurprisingly empty for the late hour and continued towards the galley.

The sound of light footsteps alerted him to the approach of another person. Even in his inebriated state he could tell that they were the quiet, furtive steps one took when trying not to be noticed. Jet would never take steps like that. Spike sat up slowly. "What are you doing sh-sneaking around, Faye?" he said, making an effort to speak carefully.

"Holy shit!" Faye jumped, surprised at Spike's sudden appearance. "Jesus, Spike, you should warn people before you jump them."

"That sort of de…defeats the purpose, now dun't it?" Spike muttered imperiously.

She paused. What was he doing lying shirtless on the floor? "Spike, are you drunk?"

"Me?" he tried his best to look himself in the eye. "You drunk?" He shook his head. "Naw…"

Faye shook her head, disgusted. "And I thought you'd already hit rock bottom," she muttered turning for the kitchen.

"Hey wait!"

Faye turned back to him, crossing her arms impatiently. "What."

Spike propped himself up on the arm of the couch to keep from sliding back onto the floor. "Want some?" he asked holding up his bottle.

Faye stared at him for a moment. "Yeah, I could use a drink," she muttered, recalling the dreams that had driven her from bed, plopped down on the couch as Spike pulled himself up beside her, and took a drink from the offered bottle. Her face twisted. "Do they actually think the raspberry is gonna make the vodka taste better?"

"Dunno," he said, head bobbing slightly.

They sat in silence, Faye sipping from the clear glass bottle and Spike muttering to himself, engrossed in an unexplained mark on his couch.

"You know," he slurred. "You…you are th'most beeyutiful woman onthis…sshhhip," he said drunkenly, putting an arm around her shoulders.

Faye stiffened. "Remove you hand."

Spike's jovial expression soured. "Bitch. Was a joke, enyway. Yur the only wom'n on this sh-ip." He hiccupped.

Faye rolled her eyes. "I'm going to bed."

"Wait."

Faye took a deep breath and counted to ten. "Yes?"

"Don't go," he said quietly.

"Spike—"

"Just stay?"

Against her better judgment, Faye sat back down beside her drunken comrade and crossed her legs not trying to hide her annoyance. "It's late, I'm tired, you owe me."

"Deal," Spike grinned knocking back another drink from the bottle. She grabbed him as he began to tilt dangerously.

"How much of that have you had?"

"Mmm…thisis…the secnd one…Ithink…"

"Christ, Spike." Faye frowned. "You'd better slow down—"

"You shouldn't do tha'," he grinned foolishly.

"Do what?"

"Yer face'll stick like that, you know. Din't yer momma ever…tell you that?" he asked with drunken seriousness and pointing at her, his finger wavering as if he was trying to pin down a moving object. His brows drew together in concentration. "Shtay…still…"

"Spike—hey!"

Faye squawked as Spike pushed her back onto the couch, her body under his.

"Shut up."

Her struggles ceased when he kissed her neck softly. Too shocked to move, she simply lay there as he began to trace a path down her collarbone, his lips light as feathers against her rapidly heating skin. She jerked as she felt his tongue on her exposed neck. "Spike, stop—"

He silenced her with soft kiss on her lips softly, his hands moving down her sides lovingly. She moaned against his mouth, the taste of the alcohol on his tongue almost as overwhelming with the realization of what had just happened, what was now happening. Thoughts raced through her mind a thousand miles a second as she struggled to understand the sudden turn of events. Spike was kissing her…and she was kissing him back. The proximity of his hard muscled body left her dizzy…or was that just from his kisses…or the alcohol in her system? _He's drunk, idiot!_ Her hands roved across his broad shoulders and back following the contours of his muscles as they moved under his skin. _You can't do this, Faye! FAYE! _He slid a hand under the hem of her shirt.

She turned her face aside, panting slightly. "Spike. Stop."

He turned her face back towards him and gazed into her eyes, a confusion in his unfocused agates. "Why?"

_He doesn't even see you!_ "Spike, get off."

"But—" hurt flashed across his face.

"Now."

Betrayal poured over his handsome face. He rolled off of her and sat on floor, his face in his hands, looking like a lost child. She steeled herself, shutting herself off from the guilt that slithered through her belly at the site of him, knowing she had caused his pain. _He hates you remember? _Yeah, that's right. He hated her. And she hated him.

"Bastard," she muttered as she stood and stalked back towards her room.

Spike's stomach gave an alarming lurch and he squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden pain in his abdomen. Sweat broke out on his forehead, trickled down his neck and between his shoulder blades to soak into the hem of his pants.

"Christ," he groaned, setting the bottle aside and then knocking it over with a clunk as he pulled himself into a sitting position on the couch, clear liquid pooling on the cold floor. His already watery vision began to blur even further as he tried to raise himself onto the couch stumbled into the table and crashed onto the floor.

Faye leaned back dizzily against the corridor wall, welcoming the soothing cool of the metal against her skin. Her mind reeled at the implications of what had almost happened. She could have never forgiven herself if she had slept with Spike. He would have lorded the event over her, gloating that he could bring down any woman he wanted, even those who claimed to hate him. She drew a hand across her face, disturbed at the want she had felt surging through her when he had kissed her.

A loud crash behind her made her pause. What was that idiot doing now, trying to seduce the couch? Shaking her head, she turned and stalked back into the common room ready to give him the verbal lashing she had been too stunned to give him moments before. She hugged herself slightly and shivered. It was cold and he was…why was he lying on the floor again? Her brows knit as she took a closer look at his sprawled form. She noticed the sweat on his chest and forehead and the striking pallor of his skin that had should have been apparent at first glance.

"Spike. What's wro—" she stopped, noticing the glass bottle lying on its side, its clear contents spreading slowly over the floor.

"Spike?" she put a hand on his shoulder.

His eyes flickered and he groaned, head moving from side to side.

"Spike. Spike, wake up," she said firmly, shaking him slightly.

"Ngh…jush lemme sleep…" he mumbled.

"Shit," she gagged, the smell of alcohol on his breath completely was overpowering. "Spike, listen to me, you have to sit up," she said urgently. "Spike?"

"Goway."

"Damn it," she muttered as she massaged her temples. "Spike, you have to—"

Spike's eyes shot open and he gasped, curling onto his side and holding his stomach. Alarmed, Faye dropped to her knees beside him as he whimpered in agony.

"Spike!"

He gritted his teeth. "Hurts…" He whimpered. "Hurts so much…" Agony flashed through him again causing him to twist in pain. It felt as if there was something wicked inside him trying to claw its way out. He could feel the beast prowling at the edges of his sanity as the maddening pain shredded his self-control.

Faye looked around wildly for something that would help, anything that would help. "Hold on, Spike, just hold on!"

"Can't," he whispered. "Hurts…" he passed out.

"SPIKE!" Faye threw herself over his sweat-slicked body. "Spike, talk to me! The one time I actually want you to talk to me and you're not going to take the opportunity to say something nasty? Spike!" Tears stung her eyes as she felt his pulse and breathing. "Come on, _come on_!" she muttered, feeling panic rise inside her.

Hooking her arms under his she struggled to lift his upper body into a sitting position. His head lolled forward so that his chin rested on his chest. He groaned again faintly. Faye's eyes widened. "Don't you be sick right here, don't you dare!" With a monumental effort she hoisted his limp body onto her back, holding his arms around her neck as his feet dragged behind her. She could feel his heart beating against her back as his breath tickled her neck.

"You…owe me…for this…bastard…" she gritted through clenched teeth as she dragged Spike's dead weight towards the bathroom, wincing as she put more than double her weight on the knee she had injured in the hangar during their earlier encounter. "If you…vomit…I'll kill you…I swear…"

Opening the door of the bathroom proved to be more difficult than ever before and once inside she nearly toppled over, feet getting tangled in a towel someone had inconsiderately left on the floor. With much cursing, she managed to let Spike down onto the floor without killing him.

Laying him down on a towel so that his bare skin would not touch the cold floor, she ran a washcloth under cold water and put it on his burning forehead. His lips twitched at her touch and he turned his face weekly into her hand.

"Uh…Spike?"

Suddenly he lurched upright, nearly knocking Faye onto her back, and vomited violently into the toilet. His lean frame shuddered with each wracking heave as his stomach emptied itself of the poison he had so willingly poured into it. Faye was at his side in an instant holding him up as he threatened to collapse again, dry heaves leaving his broad shoulders hunched and tense. His breathing was labored as he leaned heavily on the toilet.

"Shh…it's ok," she whispered soothingly as she brushed sweat soaked hair out of his eyes. "You're going to be fine, I promise."

He sagged against her, putting his head on her shoulder. She froze again, unsure of what to do, but when he shivered her anger at his stupidity melted away and wrapped her arms around naked shoulders, smoothing the hair from his forehead and rocking him gently. She had never seen him this fragile, had never thought he was capable of it. Quietly she began to hum a song that Carlos had sung to her whenever she had needed comfort.

Spike stirred against her. "Julia…" he whispered, nuzzling her shoulder as she sat with him on the bathroom floor.

A stab of jealously lanced through her, rekindling her anger. That bitch. She had been the cause of this, and where was she now? Who the hell knew, probably off fucking some other up and coming Syndicate poster boy. And after all the pain she had caused him, here he was calling out her name. _He thinks I'm her_, she thought with a jolt. Her heart sank. _What the hell? What do I care? He's just a stupid prick, anyway. I don't care if he wants to torture himself over some dumb blonde broad…_ Looking down at his face she knew it wasn't true.

With a sigh she kissed his forehead softly and shifted so that he was curled against her more comfortably. Again she was struck by how childlike he looked, curled up against her, face calm, the color beginning to return to his cheeks and lacking any pain or the usual anger or bitterness. His breathing was slow and even against her neck. She closed her eyes. She could not let him get to her. The bastard had just tried to take her right there on the couch in the middle of the common room. _But he was drunk,_ she thought to herself daubing the cool towel over his face. _That's no excuse! That just makes it worse! It wasn't even you he was kissing, just some ghost that will forever hold the key to the chains around his heart. He is a callous, uncaring asshole who is so trapped in his past that he hasn't realized that the future has already passed him by._

She leaned back against the metal tub, shivering as her back touched its cold surface. Spike murmured in his sleep and wrapped his arms around her waist, snuggling closer to her warm body. She let her head fall back against the rim of the tub. God damn it. He had cut through her defenses as if they had never been there. Boy she knew how to pick 'em. A con artist pretending to be her lawyer who ended up saddling her with millions of woolongs of debt, a wannabe cowboy turned wannabe kung fu master and now an ex syndicate bounty hunter with an ultra poetic view of suicide and an yen for binge drinking and cigarettes, not to mention the fact that he seemed to hate her simply for existing. And now he was curled up against her, holding her as if she were the only thing anchoring him to reality. _Maybe I am… maybe that's why he hates me so much…_

She reached for another towel and pulled the thin cloth over the both of them, his body finally beginning to lose its feverish heat. She closed her eyes savoring the feel of his body against hers, shamefully wondering if she would ever be that close to him again. His skin was taught and surprisingly smooth. She thunked her head back against the tub again, banishing such thoughts from her mind. _I had a little more to drink than I should have, that's it, now shut up, _she told herself non-too firmly. It was going to be a long night.


	5. Favors

**Midnight Blues**

**5. Favors**

Julia smiled at him from across the counter as he watched her carefully pouring coffee into twin black mugs. He was leaning casually against the table, dark blue pants hanging loosely on his hips, Julia having taken his shirt to wear when she'd risen. Her long blonde hair cascaded over her slim shoulders looking disheveled. He smiled to himself. He'd done that.

"What?" she asked with a shy smile.

"You're beautiful," he replied, moving forward and leaning across the counter to kiss her softly. When he pulled back she was still smiling her shy smile and—

_Drip._

_Drip._

Spike frowned, slightly. The faucet was off, and the bathroom was down the hall past their bedroom, so where was that dripping coming from?

"What's wrong?" Julia asked, handing him his coffee.

"Nothing," he said, taking her hand and kissing it gently before taking a sip from his mug. Perfect.

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

Spike's brows drew together slightly as he set down his coffee. "Do you have a leak somewhere?"

"A leak?"

"Don't you hear that dripping?"

"What? Spike, are you all right?" Julia moved to his side and put a hand on his shoulder, concerned.

"Yeah, it's just that…" Spike's eyes widened in horror.

Her stomach was a bloody mess, a ragged hole where her abdomen should have been.

_Drip._

_Drip._

Spike staggered back, reeling. Her entire lower half was covered in the blood that slowly oozed from the gunshot wound in her middle. She looked at him, confused and took a step toward him.

"Spike, what's wrong?"

Spike gaped at her, mouth working, but to no avail. Julia took another step towards him leaving bloody footprints on the white kitchen tile, his now blood-soaked shirt plastered to her skin.

"You…you…"

"Spike," 

Spike backed away slowly, stumbling over a cushion that had fallen off one of the chairs.

"_Spike, wake up."_

Spike shook his head, trying to rid himself of the specter, but she was still there. He slowly sank to his knees. Julia kneeled down before him and cupped his cheek.

"_Spike, you have to wake up," _she said calmly. "It's time for you to go,"

"But…Julia…" he couldn't speak, couldn't think, his mind reeling at the sight of the bloody and ragged hole in her body.

"Spike…Spike...please……" 

The world around him seemed to tilt as he grasped wildly for something to hold onto. His vision darkened as he fell into the deep blue pools that were Julia's eyes.

"_Spike…_Spike…come on…"

"No!" Blindly he reached out for her, catching hold of her arm as she began to fade away. Her blue eyes widened, shifting and swirling, changing from blue to green.

"Spike?"

Spike forced his eyes to focus despite the light that stabbed at them like broken glass. He swayed slightly as his gripped tightened on her arm.

"Spike, you're hurting me," she winced as he held her tightly. "Spike, please."

That hadn't been Julia's voice. What was going on? Where was he? As his blurry vision began to clear he could make out violet hair, the metal walls of the bathroom slowly coming into focus behind her. "Faye," he sagged against the tub and buried his face in his hands, shaking. Great. That's just what he needed, to show Faye a sign of weakness that she could lord over him.

"How do you feel?"

"You don't have to yell," he hissed, shielding his eyes from the glaring light. "What did you do to me, run me through a meat grinder?" He took a shaky breath trying to clear the image of Julia's blood splattering onto the white tile.

_Drip._

_Drip._

Spike's eyes widened. "Stop it!"

"What?"

_Drip._

"Shut up!" Spike shouted, his voice breaking as he clutching his head.

Faye touched his shoulder. "Hey—"

"Don't touch me!" he spat, jerking away from her touch.

Faye's face twisted angrily. "Fine! You know, I knew I shouldn't have stayed. I knew you wouldn't give a shit that I stayed here all night to make sure you didn't drown in your own vomit. If that's how you're going to thank me, then fine! I wish you had died that night!" she screamed and ran out of the bathroom near tears.

Spike squinted up at the spot she had just been trying to assimilate had just happened as the memories of the night before began to come back to him in bits and pieces. He had been drinking, that much he did not have to remember. He winced. The damn woman hadn't had to shriek. The silver metal of the faucet caught his eye as a tiny clear drop began to form, growing slowly until it wobbled and fell into the sink. _Drip. _Spike closed his eyes as the pounding in his head increased a notch.

"Fuck."

He must have passed out somewhere. He tried to remember what had happened. He had gotten back to the couch and…and then Faye had come and…try as he might he could not dredge up any further memories of the night before. She must have dragged him to the bathroom where, judging by the sour taste in his mouth and his aching stomach muscles, he had thrown up, repeatedly. And what was that she had said? Had she really stayed with him through the night?

He stood slowly using the sink as a support and watched his own reflection in the mirror. "You asshole." His reflection winked at him. Spike blinked. _Man, I really am losing it._

Turning on the faucet, he splashed cold water on his face in an effort to banish the razor sharp cobwebs from his foggy mind. He had had hangovers before, but this one took the cake, and the cream, and the strawberries, hell, it took the whole fucking shop.

* * *

Faye ran down the hall, her footsteps echoing against the metal walls as tears blinded her. Turning a sharp corner she stumbled into the hangar and leapt for the Redtail as more tears coursed down her cheeks. If she wasn't wanted, she wasn't going to stay. Jet would just have to think of some other way to catch Sanders. She was leaving, for good.

"Whoa, whoa!" A pair of arms wrapped around her from behind as she began to climb the ladder to her ship.

She struggled, trying to get free, a sob escaping her clenched teeth. "Get the hell off me!" she shrieked.

"Faye! Calm down!" It was Jet. "Faye, what's the matter with you!"

Exhausted, Faye went limp in Jet's arms as the pain of Spike's rejection threatened to overwhelm her. "Jet, I want to leave. Please, just let me go," she whispered.

Jet noticed the dark bruises on Faye's arm and turned her to face him. His brows narrowed dangerously. "What did he do to you."

"Nothing, Jet. He didn't do anything."

"Don't you cover for him, Faye! If he hurt you—"

Faye burst into tears, sobbing against Jet's chest. "He-he was drunk and he f-fell and I couldn't j-just leave him and then…then…" Jet wrapped his arms around her comfortingly, eyes wide and worried as the words poured from her. "He, we, I didn't know what to do! I th-thought he was dying! I couldn't let him d-die, not again!"

"Shhh, it's ok," Jet patted her head awkwardly, not quite comprehending her jumbled story.

"And then he woke up and he looked like he'd seen a ghost and, and he g-gra-grabbed me and…and…" she buried her face in Jet's chest, unable to recount the pain and disappointment, the hatred she had seen in his eyes when he had realized who she was. It had been enough to make her blood run cold.

"Jesus, Faye," Jet said after a moment. "No wonder you look like shit."

A small chuckle burst out of her, despite her misery. "Thanks, Jet."

He cracked a small smile. "Come on, I'll make you some coffee, all right?"

* * *

"So you stayed with him the whole night?" Jet asked taking a sip of coffee as he sat across Faye at the kitchen table.

Faye grunted, twisting in her chair to the satisfying sound of vertebras popping. Jet winced. "Spent the whole damn night on the bathroom floor with that _moron_ sprawled over me."

Jet raised a brow.

Faye gave him a look. "Don't get any ideas, you dirty old man. What was I supposed to do, leave him to in there?"

"You could have done a lot worse."

Faye shrugged.

Jet downed the rest of his coffee. "I'll make something for breakfast. You just stay out of the way," he said, his tone humorous and kind despite the bite of his words.

Faye smiled at her older comrade gratefully and made her way to the common room. Plopping down on the yellow couch, she reached for the vid screen. Her foot touched something cold and wet. She pulled her feet up onto the couch with a yelp and peered down onto the floor. The bottle of vodka was still lying in its puddle. Faye took a deep breath trying to calm her racing heart.

With a disgruntled sigh, she scrounged around the small room until she managed to locate a grubby old towel that had been shoved behind the other couch. She mopped up the liquid on the floor and put the now nearly empty bottle on the table.

"Why do I always end up cleaning up after him…" she muttered to herself. "Stupid, fucking, no good—"

"What was that?"

Faye froze. Her lips tightened as she straightened from her crouched position and sat back down on the couch, ignoring him completely.

"Faye—"

She flicked on the vid screen.

"—_take it that you've continued your little affair with the Lady Anna Bella Maria?"_

"_Keep your nose where it belongs, Jean Luke, or you may lose it."_

"_An empty threat is a very dangerous thing, Pierre. It could get you into trouble."_

"Faye!"

She turned up the volume, glaring pointedly at the screen. Spike winced as the dialogue grated against his ears like nails down a chalkboard. He stalked over to the wall and yanked the cord out of the wall socket. The screen fizzled and went black. Faye continued to glare at it.

"That really wasn't very nice," he said, turning back to her.

She scowled at the screen.

"Look, I'm—"

"I think I need some more coffee," she grabbed her mug still scowling darkly and stood. The cup was still half full.

Spike noticed the dark bruises on her arm for the first time. "Faye, what happened to your arm?" She shifted her weight onto her right leg. "And what's with your leg?"

"What the hell do you think happened to my arm! _You _happened to my arm!" she snarled. "And my knee is my business!"

Spike's brows drew together. "Look, Faye, I didn't know—"

"What, you didn't know it was me!" Faye shrieked at him. "Thought it was _her_, did you? Just like you thought it was her last night when you…" she snapped her mouth shut, looking anxiously back towards the kitchen.

"Faye, what are you talking about?" he asked, his voice low as he moved towards her.

"Fuck you!" she snarled. "You're disgusting and I hate you!"

Spike took a deep breath. Her tantrum was not improving his headache, at all. "Whatever, Faye," he muttered and walked out of the common room, unwilling to subject himself to any more of her shrieking.

"Go put some fucking clothes on!" she shouted after him.

Faye sat back down onto the couch, slamming her coffee down onto the table more forcefully than she'd intended, the hot liquid sloshing onto her hand. She hissed in pain and stuck her burned digits into her mouth. Boy, her morning was just getting better and better.

Spike headed into his room and picked up his jacket from where he had left if on the floor the night before. There was still a bottle of whisky in the inside pocket. He grimaced as his stomach clenched slightly. The shirt was a disaster with several of its buttons missing. _When did that happen?_ He wondered idly as he rummaged through his drawers. _Guess it's time for a little laundry, _he thought to himself as he slipped into his jacket, having to forgo the shirt until he could find a clean one. Grabbing a few other items, he turned and sauntered back towards the common room.

The bright common room lights made him wince as he entered.

"Back so soon? I was hoping you'd be gone a bit longer," Faye shot at him.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"And you didn't even have the decency to put on the shirt? Pig."

"Yeah," he muttered as he sat beside her. "Let me see your knee."

"Don't tell me you don't remember."

He stared at her blankly as he set the items he had retrieved from his room on the table. "Remember what?"

"All right, two can play this game," she drawled. Moving with a fluid grace despite her injured knee, she shifted on the couch so she was straddling him where he sat.

"What the hell are you doing!" Spike spluttered as she kissed his neck, hands roving across his chest.

"Returning the favor," she whispered into his ear, her breath sending a shiver down his spine.

"Faye—"

She cut him off as her lips met his, his eyes going wide with shock. His hands found her shoulders and he pushed her away, holding her at arms length as he panted. "Just what the hell are you playing at," he grated, headache momentarily forgotten.

Faye smirked, coyly. "I told you, I was returning the favor."

"Did I…?" Spike's eyes widened. "Did we…we didn't…did we?"

Faye's smirk became a disgusted scowl as she freed herself of his hands and dropped back onto the couch. "No, we didn't. I'm not that desperate."

Spike stared at his hands. "Shit," he mumbled. "I'm sorry, Faye."

"What was that?"

"I said I was sorry, ok! Christ." He ran a hand through his hair.

Faye blinked at him starting to regret her callous actions. "You were drunk." He shot her a disbelieving look. "You thought I was…Julia," she whispered, struggling with the name.

Spike closed his eyes. "Let me see your knee."

Faye raised an eyebrow. "Uh, I don't think so. You don't have a very good track record," she said caustically, the dark bruises on her arm standing out lividly against her pale skin.

"Fine," he said. In a blink he grabbed her knee and pulled her legs across his lap. He gently began to probe her bruised knee with deft fingers.

"OW!" she yelped. "Get off me! That hurts!" she shouted.

"What the hell is going on here!"

Faye and Spike froze. Jet stood in the kitchen doorway wearing an apron and a white chef's hat and brandishing a spatula menacingly. "Hey! I'm talking to you two and I want to know what is going on!" he growled, advancing on the stricken pair. "If you're hurting her…" he left the threat hanging.

"It's ok, Jet, really," Faye said trying not to look at the hat perched atop Jet's head. His eyes narrowed dangerously. Faye became very engrossed in her nails, her lips twitching. Spike looked as if he had just swallowed something very spicy.

"Spike?"

Spike held his hands up defensively. "I have no idea how that got there," he said innocently, gesturing at Faye's leg. He held his breath.

Jet's suspicious gaze swept the both of them before he turned around and headed back toward the kitchen. "I'm getting too old for this," he muttered.

Faye collapsed into a fit of helpless giggles as Jet disappeared into the kitchen. Spike winced. "Jesus, Faye? Can you laugh a little more piercingly?"

Faye pouted. "It's not my fault you decided to get drunk last night." Spike grunted as he grabbed little blue square off the table. "What's that?"

"Ice," he said as he crumpled the little square into a ball and rubbed it in his hands. "For your knee," he added at her confused look. She blinked as he deftly placed the patch over her bruised and swollen knee and wrapped a bandage around it to keep it secure. The patch was surprisingly cold. She shivered.

With a sigh of sufferance Spike took off his jacket and put it around Faye's shoulders. "Better?"

Faye stared at him, dumbstruck. "Who _are _you?"

Spike made a face. "I owe you, I guess."

"But you don't even have a shirt!" Faye spluttered, trying to give him back his jacket. "And what happened to your hangover?"

"We men must do what we can to protect the weaker sex," he said with a wink and stood. "Yo Jet!" he shouted, effectively cutting off any retort she might have made.

"In a minute, in a minute!" Came Jet's harassed reply.

"There any more of that coffee left?" Spike asked Faye, rubbing his temples and wincing. "Shouldn't have fucking yelled…" he muttered.

"Why don't you go find out for yourself," she replied flatly.

"Ladies first," Spike said with a smirk as he lifted Faye off the couch and pushed her in the direction of the galley.


	6. The Sicilian

_And for those of you who don't know, Pinot Noir is pronounced "pee-no new-are."_ _Sort of._

**Midnight Blues**

**6. The Sicilian **

Jet sat at the head of the table eyeing his two partners as they sat down across from each other. It had been a very strange morning indeed. He had risen to a completely silent ship and had been unable to find either of the two younger hunters anywhere, and now they were sitting and eating silently, completely at peace. He had checked all of their usual lurking places, but had not been able to find a single sign of life until Faye had practically bowled him over as he was tidying up the hangar in an attempt to reach her ship and leave.

That encounter had left him confused and a little worried. From what he had understood from Faye's tearful account of the previous night, Spike had gotten himself stinking drunk and passed out. This had not been entirely surprising to Jet, having had a few such episodes himself when he was younger. What had surprised him was that Faye had actually given enough of a damn to drag his unconscious body to the bathroom and stay there the whole night to make sure he was all right.

He eyed Spike discretely as he stabbed a piece of scrambled egg with his fork. The younger man wolfed down his breakfast like he hadn't seen food in days and took a gulp of his coffee, cursing as he burned his tongue. The two had walked into the kitchen as if everything was dandy, silently sitting at the table opposite one another. There had been no childish bickering, no vicious name-calling, and not a single dirty look. Jet did not know what to make of the situation. He had been surprised to see Spike without a shirt and down right shocked to see Faye wearing Spike's jacket.

"Spike, where's your shirt?"

Spike shrugged. "No clean ones," he said around a mouthful of Faye's eggs.

Jet stared as Faye cast Spike a scandalized look and braced himself for her to inevitably throw something or storm off cursing. She sipped her coffee. Jet's jaw dropped.

"I missed something," he said cautiously. "Faye, why are you wearing Spike's jacket?"

Faye looked guiltily into her coffee. "I, uh, it was cold…"

Jet looked at her incredulously. "So you went into Spike's room and stole his jacket? You could have gotten something from your room, it's closer."

"I didn't steal it."

"That's what it's called when you take something without the owner's permission."

"He let me borrow it," she said, looking a little surprised by the fact.

Jet stared at Spike. "You let her borrow it? Of your own free will? What is going on!" He rubbed his bald head. "Spike, I think _you're _the one with the multiple personalities," he said exasperated.

Spike shrugged.

"Well we'll be landing on Mars in a few hours so get ready," Jet said finally, giving up any hope of understanding the sudden shift in the chemistry between his comrades.

* * *

Faye was lounging in the common room reading when the Bebop landed, the jolt sending her crashing onto the floor. "Jesus, Jet! Try landing, rather than crashing next time!" She shouted in the direction of the ships bridge. Once the ship had ceased lurching she picked herself gingerly up off the floor and managed to regain her balanced.

Leaving her magazine where it had fallen, she made her way to the bridge and watched as Jet maneuvered the Bebop towards the city. Tharsis was as massive as she remembered it being. Tall, proud buildings glittered like diamonds in the sun, catching the light and dazzling the beholder. She could see people moving about on the city's bayside boulevard, obliviously going about their daily business.

Faye shook her head. People never gave a shit about anything outside of their own puny lives.

"So what do you think, Faye?" Jet asked as his hands tapped the controls.

"Looks like the perfect place to lose yourself," she answered still gazing at the beautiful city before her. "No wonder Spike stayed so long."

Jet grunted. "We're a day ahead of schedule. Do what you have to do, ok?"

Faye nodded and turned to go. "Faye?"

"Yeah?" she replied.

"Be careful."

"Yeah."

* * *

Spike walked out of his room and adjusted his tie. He had been in the middle of a workout when Jet had crashed the Bebop into the bay that morning. There was still a bit of a bump on his head from where he had collided with the hard floor. He was going to have to teach Jet to fly one of these days.

He found Jet in the common room cleaning a massive array of weaponry that was laid out on the table before him. Spike whistled.

"Looking to fight a war, Jet?"

"It never hurts to be prepared, Spike."

Spike shook his head. "You seen Faye lately?"

Jet shook his head as he polished his gun. "She went shopping."

"With whose money?"

Jet shrugged. "She said she'd take care of it. I figure the less I know, the less opportunity I have to care."

"Well I'm going out."

Jet looked up from his gun. "Out?" he asked, taking in Spike's classy black tux for the first time. "Where are you going that you need _that?_"

"Oh here and there," Spike answered noncommittally as he fussed with his bow tie.

"And what are you _doing_ out that you need such a fancy suit?" Jet asked suspiciously.

"Recon."

"JET!" Both Spike and Jet jumped. "Jet! I'm back!" Faye called as she strolled casually into the common room with several large bags in hand. "Oh, hey."

Jet picked his gun up from where he had dropped it on the floor. "That was fast," he said, annoyed.

Faye shrugged. "Yeah, well I had a bit of a run in with—"

"Don't tell me," Jet cut her off. "I don't want to know."

Faye harrumphed and plopped herself down onto the couch. "Wow, Spike, looking good. I didn't know you could pull off class."

"You might want to take notes." Spike began rummaging through one of Faye's bags. "Shit, Faye. Do you really need all this stuff?" He asked holding up and inspecting a slinky black garment at arms length.

"Hey! Hands off!" Faye snapped, snatching the article of clothing from Spike's hand.

"Whatever," Spike muttered. "Jet I'll be back." Jet nodded.

"Where are you going?" Faye asked.

Spike smirked at Jet. "Out."

Jet scowled. "Faye, I want you to go with him."

"WHAT!" They cried in unison.

"No, come on Jet!" "I don't wanna go with him!" "She'll just get in the way!" "I will not!" "Remember what happened last time?" "That was your fault!"

"QUIET!" Jet set down his weapon slowly as Spike and Faye seethed at each other from across the table. "I want you both out. I don't care if you're together or not, just don't kill anyone or each other and avoid causing too much property damage while you're at it."

Spike glared at him. "Whatever you say, Boss." Jet scowled.

"I can't go," Faye said airily.

Jet raised an eyebrow.

"My right thruster isn't working."

"Tough."

"What do you mean 'tough'?"

"You're just going to have to squeeze in with Spike."

"You've got to be kidding," Spike grumbled.

"Jet!"

Jet ignored them.

"You can't come with me looking like that," Spike said finally, lighting a cigarette.

"What's wrong with this?" Faye spluttered. Spike shot her a reproachful look. "Well when are you leaving?"

"Now."

"How am I supposed to get into something else if you're leaving now!"

"Quickly. I'm not waiting long."

With an angry scowl, Faye grabbed her bags and stalked out of the room.

"And make it something classy!" he called after her. There was a muffled yell, but he couldn't make out the words.

Spike took a drag on his cigarette. "This can only end badly," he muttered as he walked slowly to the hangar, hands deep in his pockets. The Swordfish sat peacefully, her wings folded gracefully despite looking a little worse for ware. Spike ran a hand along the smooth surface of the red mono racer. So much power in so compact and sleek a form.

"Are you two quite finished?"

Spike turned to see Faye standing behind him, hands on her hips. "That was fast—" He blinked. She was wearing what he could only guess was the slinky black thing he had pulled from one of her bags. Her hair was done up loosely in contrast to the form fitting dress she was wore, the skimpy halter's neck line dipping low and the hem cutting off high. Faye smirked.

"I thought I told you to put on something classy," he said, regaining his composure. "Too bad you didn't take those notes."

Faye scowled. "Look, I didn't ask to come with you."

Spike shrugged and climbed into the cockpit of the Swordfish, his black leather shoes flashing.

"So how are we doing this?" Faye asked, looking up at the ship apprehensively.

Spike yawned. "First you grasp the ladder with your hands and then you put one foot on the step and then the other foot on the—"

"I get it, thanks," Faye snapped as she gingerly began to climb the ladder.

"What the hell's wrong with you?"

Faye scowled. "Stilettos were not made with ladders in mind." She looked into the cockpit. "There's only one seat."

"It's called a mono racer for a reason," Spike drawled. "Get in."

Faye grumbled as she climbed into the tight space and tried to squeeze in beside him. "That's not…gonna work," Spike grunted as they jostled for position. "Ow, watch it!" "Hey, careful where you put your hands!" "Watch the suit!" "That was my foot, asshole!" Spike grimaced. Comfort had obviously been sacrificed for the sake of sleekness and speed when his ship had been made. With a curse he wrapped an arm around Faye's waist and pulled her down onto his lap. She immediately began to struggle.

"I don't think so! Get your hands off me!"

"Quit your damn…wriggling, woman!" Spike grated through clenched teeth. "There's no other way!"

Faye stopped struggling and sat rigidly. "Fine," she grumbled. "But if you get any ideas…"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Spike muttered as he worked his arms around her so that he could reach the controls and tried his best to ignore the warm body sitting across his lap, the back of her dress scooping impossibly low to expose a scandalous amount of skin.

Faye tensed as he grasped the controls, his arms effectively trapping her against him. She could feel her cheeks heating as he shifted beneath her. Spike maneuvered the Swordfish onto the Bebop's deck and pushed the throttles all the way forward. The Swordfish shot off the deck and up into the air and Faye's body pressed back against Spike's chest as they accelerated upwards. Spike grimaced. Never again. Never, ever again.

"How much do you weigh, shit, my legs are going numb," Spike muttered as his feet began to tingle uncomfortably.

"That's a rude question to ask a lady," Faye snapped.

"That's obviously not a problem," Spike shot back irritably. "You're not the one who can no longer feel their lower half."

"That shouldn't be too bad, seeing as you don't have anything important down there, anyway," she retorted.

Spike ground his teeth as he sent the Swordfish into a steep, arching dive. Faye squealed, grabbing fistfuls of his jacket as the earth and the sky traded places.

"Watch the suit!" Spike shouted, forcefully removing her hands from his jacket. "This was expensive!"

"SPIKE!" Faye shrieked as the Swordfish began to plummet towards the city below, Spike having removed his hands from the controls to extricate himself from Faye's clutches. He grabbed the controls just in time to avoid slamming into an imposing black tower and spun back into the upper atmosphere. "Jesus, Spike! Watch where the hell you're going!"

"I was!" he shouted.

"You almost smashed into that building!"

"I wouldn't have if you'd just keep your damn hands to yourself!"

"I would have if you hadn't pulled that fucking stunt!"

"Stunt?" Spike laughed derisively. "You call that little dive a stunt?"

Faye spluttered angrily.

Spike cut her off, rolling the Swordfish over and dropping towards Tharsis once more. Faye clamped her mouth and eyes shut as the city and the sky fought for dominant position outside the window. The ship leveled out abruptly, the jolting ride smoothing out. Faye opened one eye. They were skimming feet above the bay towards the city, shocked people in pleasure crafts diving out of their way as they passed, a massive rooster tail following in their wake. A few minutes later they were coming to rest on top of a squat building on the outskirts of town.

"Let me out."

"Yeah, yeah, hold on," Spike muttered as he powered down the ship.

"Let me out now!" Faye shouted, flailing her arms.

"Shit, woman!" Spike shouted back, his head slamming into the seat as he attempted to avoid her elbow. The cockpit opened with a hiss and Faye scrambled gracelessly down onto the hard pavement. Spike followed a moment later, hopping out of the cockpit and landing beside her with ease. The canopy of the racer hissed shut. Faye ignored him, fiddling with her little black clutch purse.

Spike lit a cigarette as he began to walk towards the roof stairs. "Where are you taking me?" Faye asked, right behind him.

Spike paused before sauntering down the stairwell. "You make it sound like I've kidnapped you," Spike said around his smoke. "And I'm not taking you anywhere. You're tagging along," his voiced echoed up towards her.

Faye huffed as she made her way carefully down the stairs. Stilettos had not been made with stairs in mind either, it seemed. With a grimace Faye wondered if stilettos had been designed with _anything_ in mind. When they reached the street Spike waited for her to catch up before hailing a cab. The yellow automobile shot past without even slowing down.

"Asshole," Spike muttered when the third cab had passed them by and began walking up the street, hands shoved in his pockets sullenly. "Looks like we'll be walking. Don't expect me to carry you."

"Let me try," Faye said and stuck out her thumb. The cab accelerated as it passed them. Spike rolled his eyes and continued walking.

With the sound of screeching tires two and then three cabs skidded to a stop behind him, the sound of shouting voices nearly drowned out by the blaring horns. Spike turned around. Faye was standing, with one hand on her cocked hip, the other playing with the hem of her dress, which was already scandalously short as it was, and showing a tremendous amount of leg. The three cabbies were near blows trying to win her patronage. She blew them a kiss.

"Spike," she called. "I'm having trouble deciding which one to take." A smug smile played across her painted lips.

Disgusted, Spike strode back to his female companion and dragged her into the nearest cab, the other two cabbies swearing at him profusely.

After telling the driver to take his eyes off of Faye's cleavage and put them back on the road or risk being shot, he added the name of the establishment that he had been planning to go to alone but had been forced to take this tagalong with him which had shortened his fuse considerably so don't do anything stupid, he sat back and folded his arms sulkily, staring silently out the window at the lights of the passing cars.

Faye shoved his arm playfully. "Come on, Spike. There's no need to—"

"Shut up."

"Well would you rather have walked?" Faye demanded, her anger rising.

"Yes."

"Ugh, men!" Faye flopped back into her seat and crossed her legs irritably.

Evening had just begun to creep over the city of Tharsis. The sun rode low on the horizon painting the sky with brazen reds and golds as it sank into the sea, shadows creeping towards the opposite horizon like long, dark fingers. Tense silence filled the cab as the nervous cabbie glanced uncertainly from the young man to his violet haired femme fatale in the back seat.

The man had been around the block a few times in his day and he had seen men like this before. He wondered what exactly lay in this man's past. Was he a government goon, a syndicate thug, a military brat? The woman didn't look like someone who would hang around one of those types, but one never knew with kids these days.

The cab turned a corner and slowed to a stop. Spike shoved open the door and stepped out, turning to pull Faye not so gently out of the cab. The older man collected his fair and pulled off into the deepening dusk.

Faye looked up at the glowing neon sign that buzzed faintly above the red double wooden doors. The Sicilian. She had never figured Spike for being much of a fan of Italian cuisine, but then again, she didn't know much about Spike period. She jumped as Spike slipped an arm around her waste, his hand resting at the small of her back.

"Follow my lead," he murmured as the entered the small, but surprisingly cozy little Italian restaurant. Faye would have argued, but she new better than to second-guess Spike when it came to the nuances of their work. He must have had a reason to come here. A smiling hostess led them to a table in the corner. A bizarre collection of old black and white photographs covered the walls, each in its own distinctive frame. A toothless old man smiled down at them from within his golden frame next to an immensely fat, naked woman in a large straw hat and movie star sunglasses in a frame made of worn green wood. An arbor had been attached to the ceiling from which hung imitation grape vines and little twinkling white lights.

Their table sat against the wall opposite the bar and faced the windows. A squat little candle sat in the middle casting little dancing shadows on the silverware. A single rose arched gracefully out of a tall fluted glass.

"What's going on?" Faye whispered as Spike pulled out her chair for her.

Spike shook his head minutely and smiled, putting his hand on hers and giving it a gently squeeze. Faye blinked. Spike gave her a quick glare. "Do you know what you want?"

Faye giggled. If he wanted her to play a role, she'd play it to the fullest. She nodded, biting her lip. Spike looked vaguely ill. He tore his eyes from her display and caught the attention of the hostess.

"My, my, you two must have planned ahead," the matronly woman said, smiling warmly. "Ma'am?" she turned to Faye, pencil poised.

"Oh, I think I'll have the…oh I just can't decide!" she giggled again, scanning the menu for the most expensive dishes.

"Well I'll give you a moment to think," she said, turning to Spike. "Sir?"

"New York steak, medium rare, no sauce," Spike said.

The woman chuckled. "Big meal for a handsome boy."

"A boy, she calls me! Darlene," Spike said reading her nametag. "How can you call me a boy, when you're only a girl yourself? You don't look a day over twenty five."

"And charming too! Aren't you the lucky girl?" She smiled at Faye.

Faye smiled returned the smile shyly, putting a hand to her lips.

"I'm the lucky one," Spike went on. "She's as lovely as a spring rose," he said taking Faye's hand, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand gently as he gazed into her eyes. Faye could not believe what she had heard coming out of his mouth. She plastered a sugary smile on her lips. Spike's look of adoration became slightly strained.

"Ah," The hostess began hesitantly. "I can come back…"

"Oh it's all right," Faye said brightly. "I'll have the Fillet Mignon, please." She batted her eyes at Spike across the table. His eyebrow twitched. "And a glass of wine. Pinot Noir."

"And you?"

"Gin on the rocks."

"Honey," Faye said reproachfully. "Remember what happened last time…"

Spike forced his glare into a loving smile, which still managed to hold a promise of death. "Of course, _darling_. I'll have a merlot, if you have any."

"If you have any, he says," Darlene chortled. "I have just the thing. Anything else?"

"No, thank you." Spike flashed a broad smile and watched her go. "Did you have to order the most expensive thing on the menu?" he whispered irritably once she was out of earshot.

Faye ignored him for a moment, trying to get a grasp on the situation. She scanned the room. Four men in dark suits sat at the other end of the restaurant talking quietly, a young couple nearby was clearly having some difficulty separating themselves from each other, their half eaten meals forgotten and cold, and an elderly man sat behind the bar, drying glasses with a white towel. One of the suits cast a furtive look in her direction. Goons.

Spike took both of her hands in his as they waited for their dinner to arrive. "See those suits by the bar?" he murmured. Faye had to admit, Spike had a flare for acting. Anyone who saw them would have thought they were simply a pair of young lovers whispering little sweet nothings to each other. She tilted her head to the side, smiling at him lazily.

"They're Red Dragon."

Faye's eyes widened. "What!" Spike shot her a silent warning and she quickly composed herself. "I thought Re…that was over," Faye whispered, tracing the lines on Spike's palm.

"So did I."

"So why are they—Ow!" Spike stepped on her foot, hard.

"Compliments from the gentlemen by the bar," It was the old man from the bar. He set a martini glass before each of them. "To the strong and the beautiful."

Faye waved to the suits at the far end of the room, flashing them a dazzling smile.

"Don't touch it," Spike hissed, eyes fixed on the two olive picks in his glass. One was a tiny red serpent, the other a snow-white tiger, its tiny jaws open in a silent roar. "This just gets better and better," he muttered. "Kindly tell the gentlemen by the bar that we are honored by their gesture, but are unable to accept these," he said, gesturing to the glasses on the table.

"Yes, sir," the older man said slowly, putting the two glasses back onto his tray and returning to the bar. The suits were whispering furiously.

"How did you know they were here?" Faye whispered nervously.

"They slipped in while you were flirting with that cab driver."

"I was no—"

Spike cut her off. "Ah, just in time," he said as Darlene set their steaming plates on the table before them. He cut a chunk from his steak and shoved it in his mouth.

Faye stared at him, aghast. "How can you eat at a time like this?"

"There's no point in worrying on an empty stomach," he said around a mouthful of steak.

"Ugh, you're disgusting."

Spike took a sip from the glass of wine that Darlene had left by his plate. He smiled. "Flatter the waitress and she'll go out of her way to make you happy."

Faye rolled her eyes as she cut daintily into her meat.

"The best meat doesn't need sauce," Spike went on, gesturing with a forkful of steak. "A good chef uses the meat's natural juices without using a sauce to keep it moist. The sauce covers the meat's natural subtle flavors." Faye stared at him, her fork poised halfway to her mouth. "A man only puts sauce on a steak to hide a poorly cooked piece of meat," he added sagely, before forking the meat into his mouth and chewing with obvious relish.

Faye blinked at him in disbelief. "Incredible. He's a closet gourmet…"

"Eat," he urged her. "The night is still young!" he said with panache, skewered a small roasted potato on his fork and popped it into his mouth.

Faye smiled despite herself. With a dry chuckle she put her fork in her mouth, relishing the flavor of the meat as it spread over her tongue.

"So why did you choose this place?" She asked sipping her wine and looking at the odd collection of photographs on the wall by their table.

Spike's jaw halted mid chew. He looked down at his plate. Faye raised a brow. She had obviously hit a nerve with her question. She changed tacks. "This an old hang out or something? A place you took girls back in the day?"

She saw pain flicker across his face. "Spike?"

"Not now, Faye," he muttered as one of the suits crossed the room in the direction of the bathrooms. "I'll be right back."

"But—"

"I'll be right back," he said firmly, pushing back his chair and following the other man through the back.

Faye threw her napkin onto the table with exasperation. The last thing she needed was for Spike to go off and get himself shot, again. Her eyes followed him as he disappeared into the back of the restaurant, concern crossing her features.

Spike sauntered into the dimly lit bathroom, ignoring the naked strongman with the world on his shoulders that hung on the door in a simple wooden frame. The man in the dark suit was already inside. Spike waited until he had finished with his business before attending to his own, flashing the man a brief smile as he washed his hands. The man did not smile back.

"What are you doing here?"

Spike looked confused. "I'm sorry, sir. You must have me confused with someone else."

"Don't give me that shit, Spiegel. Why are you on Mars?" the man snarled pulling back his jacket to show the gun tucked into his side holster.

Spike let his confused act drop. "It's nice to see you again, too, Francis," he said, drying his hands and casually slipping his hand into his pants pocket so that his jacket was pushed back to reveal his own weapon.

"What are you planning!"

"Calm down, Frankie. I'm not planning a thing."

"Don't call me that!" the man spat. "You're supposed to be dead!"

"Yeah, that was the general idea," Spike smirked slightly. "You've grown. You must be, what, twenty now?"

"Answer the question!"

"How's Denise? You are still dating her, aren't you? She was quite the firecracker."

"Shut up!"

Spike shrugged and turned for the door.

"Whose the new broad, Spiegel? Some whore you picked up on the street?"

In an instant Spike had the man pinned against the wall, the barrel of his Jericho planted firmly against his temple.

"You watch yourself, Spiegel. The Syndicates are not happy that you are still alive."

"You're in no position to make threats, Francis," Spike drawled. "Now why don't you tell me about those little olive picks you sent over, hm?"

"What olive picks?"

"Don't play games with me," Spike growled, pushing his gun harder against the younger man's temple. "Why are Red Dragon and White Tiger working together?"

"I-I don't know, I—"

"Do you remember the old days, Francis? Do you remember what we used to do to liars?" Spike could feel the beast stirring in him and howling for the younger man's blood. He clenched his teeth.

"Some-something happened," Francis stuttered. "There's another, an outside player."

"Who?"

"I don't know! I swear, I don't know!" the younger man cried, tears welling up in his dark eyes. "Please, please I don't know…"

Spike shoved him roughly against the wall, holstering his gun with disgust. "Get yourself cleaned up. If I were you, I'd get as far from the Syndicate as fast as you can."

The younger man nodded, eyes wide as Spike stalked out of the small room and straightened his jacket.

When he returned to the table he found Faye clutching her napkin in one hand and pushing some poor green beans around her plate distractedly. She looked up hurriedly when he walked up to their table, relief spreading across her tense face. He leaned down and kissed her on the check before sitting down with a grunt. She smelled faintly of lavender.

"Don't tell me you were worried," Spike scoffed.

"Ha, don't make me laugh," Faye retorted unconvincingly. She could feel the imprint of his lips on her cheek. "What about them?" she nodded towards the men by the bar and sipping from her glass.

"I don't think they'll bother us again tonight."

Faye raised a brow. "What makes you think that?"

Spike winked at her. "Intuition."

Faye snorted. "Men don't have intuition, it's a woman thing."

Spike shrugged as Francis rejoined the other men and they left the establishment.

"Told you so," Spike smirked.

Faye scowled. She wondered suddenly if Spike had ever taken Julia to this place.

* * *

Night had fallen when they left the little restaurant, streetlights casting pools of light on the dark pavement. Both of Mars' moons hung in the sky amid a myriad of tiny stars. Cars whizzed by on the street in a flurry of flashing lights as fat drops began to fall slowly from the sky. Spike hailed a cab and the two of them dove into the car to escape the sudden downpour. Soon they were headed in the direction of the Jade Dragon Kabuki Theatre.

The rain had slowed down by the time they reached the theatre, its dazzling gold and red façade glittering as lights reflected off the rivulets of water pouring from the roof. It had a three decked pagoda style roof over a large foyer lined with large red pillars. Two enormous marble lions stood at the base of the large sweeping staircase that led to the huge wooden doors, above which was mounted a magnificent jade dragon, its many fanged mouth open wide in a silent roar. Men in dark suits stood guard at the door.

Spike helped Faye out of the cab, slipped an arm around her waist and led her up the marble stairs. "Someone's been tailing us," he whispered after producing two tickets from an inside pocket and entering the decadent theatre lobby. A group of richly dressed older women began whispering furiously as they passed, casting disdainful looks in Faye's direction.

"Since when do they let _her_ kind in here?" "I thought this was a respectful establishment!" "I think I'll have my husband complain to Mr. Tanaka." "Disgraceful!"

Faye's jaw clenched. "If you'll excuse me for a moment," she said, detaching herself from Spike's grasp.

"Faye. Faye!"

Ignoring him she walked smoothly over to the gaggle of women with a smile. "I'm sorry to bother you ladies," she oozed. "But I had the most _horrible_ experience this morning. I'm sure you can relate," They stared at her. "I was looking in the mirror and I found a wrinkle!" she said pointing to her perfectly smooth cheek. "I was in such a dreadful panic…you all look like you could recommend a good plastic surgeon."

The tallest of the women, gasped, her paling with anger. "You little harlot!"

"I'm so sorry ladies," Spike interjected, deciding it was better not to cause a scene. "She had a little too much to drink at dinner, I'm afraid." He flashed them an apologetic smile. They did not smile back. Faye scowled at him as he dragged her away.

"What the hell are you doing!" he asked furiously.

"Did you see the look they gave us!" she replied scathingly, yanking her arm out of his grasp.

"Since when has that ever bothered you before?"

Faye huffed sulkily and pushed through the crowd towards the bar at the far end of the plush lobby. Spike followed with a resigned sigh. When he finally caught up with her, she was perched on one of the stools, her dress still somehow managing to cover her, chatting with a dark haired man sitting beside her.

"You want to buy me a drink?" she asked coyly, idly twisting a lock of hair around her finger.

"Anything you want, babe," the man replied, eyes fixed on her exposed cleavage.

"I'll have a martini. Dry," Faye said to the bartender as Spike sat down on her other side.

"What are you doing?" he muttered to her.

Faye ignored him. "So what is it that you do, Mr. Anderson?"

"Construction," the man replied, managing to tear his eyes away from her chest. "I own the company that remodeled this place last year."

"Oh, so you must be rich on top of the tall, dark and handsome," she purred.

Spike felt his jaw clench as he watched her flirt with the man. "Faye, let's go."

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Faye turned to him, brows drawn together in confusion. Spike glared at her.

"This guy bothering you?" The dark haired Mr. Anderson asked, standing slowly.

"Faye, what the hell—"

"Hey, hey! Don't you talk to her like that!"

"Who the hell are you!" Spike said standing quickly and glaring at the slightly taller Anderson in the face.

"Who the hell are _you!_" Anderson said his voice rising.

"Boys, play nice!" Faye interjected as the two men glowered at each above over her.

"She's—we're—Faye, let's go!" Spike grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the bar leaving a stunned and angry Mr. Anderson standing over an empty barstool.

"Just what the hell are you playing at!" Spike said angrily once they had reached the relative quiet of the stairs leading up to the balcony seats. "Are you trying to attract attention?"

"You're just jealous," she huffed, crossing her arms.

Spike scoffed. "Jealous? Of _Mr. Anderson_?" he sneered. "You've got a big mouth."

"And you've got a bigger ego," she retorted.

A gong sounded in the lobby signifying that the theatre patrons should take their seats. Spike started up the stairs without waiting to see if Faye had followed.

"I hope we're not way up in the back," she muttered.

The second floor was as lavish as the first, large chandeliers hanging from the arched ceiling, gilded trim running along the walls. Plush red cushioned chairs sat in small clusters along the walls and another bar stood waiting by the entrance to the house.

Spike pulled Faye through one of the many doors on far wall.

"How did you get box seats?" she whispered in awe as she gazed out over the beautifully designed stage. Two chairs faced outwards.

"An old friend owed me a favor," Spike replied, seating himself as the house bellow filled with finely dressed people.

"Oh you mean you didn't steal them?"

Spike raised an eyebrow at her.

"Look, you didn't hear what those women said about me."

"Is that what this is all about?" Spike yawned, rubbing his neck.

"They looked at me like I was just some high priced hooker you dropped a little change for so you could hang me on your arm for effect!"

Spike grunted. "Well you didn't exactly give them much reason to think otherwise," he said gesturing to her choice of attire. His head snapped to the side as her hand connected with his face. He clenched his teeth, eyes watering from the sting of the blow as silence filled the tiny balcony.

"I'm leaving," Faye growled.

"No you're not." Faye started to rise. "The show hasn't even started yet!"

The lights dimmed. "Yes it has."

A man dressed in a stylized lion costume appeared on the stage as drums began to beat off in the darkness. There was a sharp crack and the lion transformed into a man in golden armor with a warrior's staff. Two sharp staccato cracks later he began to dance a beautiful and violent combination of moves that made the audience gasp in awe.

Faye pushed her way out of the room.

"Faye!" Spike grabbed her as she hurried towards the stairs to the main lobby.

"Let go of me!" she hissed trying to free herself, the two of them standing alone in the deserted second floor lobby. "I hate you!" she cried, throwing a wild punch at his face.

He caught her fist with practiced ease and wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. "Come on, Faye," he grunted. "You don't really mean that."

"Yes. I. Do!" she growled, twisting in his grasp.

Spike released her abruptly and she tumbled to the floor.

"You are way more trouble than you're worth," he muttered and walked down the stairs.

Faye flew after him. "I am? _I am?_" she shrieked hysterically.

"Keep it down!" he hissed at her, looking around to make sure no one had followed.

"I'm not the one who goes off to chase after ghosts!" she went on, ignoring him. "I'm not the one who abandons his friends on some stupid whim! For some, some _woman!_"

Spike rounded on her. "No, you're not!" he shouted back as he stalking through the main lobby. "You're the one who steals from her partners and goes and loses all their money betting on horses! You're the one who was stupid enough to get stuck with someone else's debts!" he ground his teeth, his self control slipping dangerously.

Faye lunged at him with a cry of furry. Spike caught shoulders in his hands, eyes burning into her own. Faye froze. Spike clenched his jaw.

"Very thin ice, Faye," he said quietly.

Faye's eyes widened in fear at the deadly calm in his voice.

The music from inside the house rose to a crescendo. There was a tremendous crack and then silence. Spike came back to himself with a jolt, releasing Faye as if he'd been burned. Roaring applause ripped through the tense silence like thunder.

She turned and ran out of the theatre.

"Faye!"

Faye stumbled down the dark street, clutching her purse as tears streamed down her face. She could hear Spike's footsteps as he ran after her.

"Faye stop!"

Her heel broke with a sharp snap sending her crashing to the wet pavement. "Damnit," she hissed through clenched teeth as blood began to seep from her palm.

Spike squatted beside her. "Are you all right?"

"F-fuck you!" Faye managed between sobs.

Spike ignored her as he caught her hand. He pulled the silk kerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and wrapped it carefully around her raw wounds. "Come on. I'll take you home."

"No!" she sobbed. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"Faye, please," he said quietly.

Faye slumped, physically and emotionally exhausted. There were no straight lines anymore. Boundaries were being blurred, good and bad, right and wrong, everything was just one huge wasteland of gray.

"Yeah," she whispered as Phobos and Demos cast stark shadows across her tearstained face.

Spike slipped her arm around his neck and wrapped his arm around her waist as he lifted her off the ground.

"My heel broke," she mumbled tearfully.

Without a word Spike scooped her up into his arms and began to walk in the direction of the Swordfish. He cursed himself for his stupidity for leaving the Swordfish so goddamn far away from the theatre. It was a going to be a very long walk.


	7. Warning Sign

**Midnight Blues**

**7. Warning Sign**

Spike sighed wearily once he managed to lift Faye into the cockpit of the Swordfish. The rain had come back as he had walked through the dark city streets, Faye in his arms. His now soaked jacket was wrapped around her sleeping form as he powered up the little ship, water dripping from his hair to trickle down his nose.

Spike leaned back as a dim blue light filled the cockpit and looked down at his purple haired companion where she was slumped against his chest. He was amazed that she had fallen asleep against him as he carried her despite the rain. And they said _he_ could sleep through anything. She sighed in her sleep.

Spike chuckled. A damp lock of hair fell across her face. Spike frowned slightly and brushed it aside as the rain continued to beat down on the glass canopy. He leaned his head back against the seat and stared up at the stars that flowed and ebbed as if they were floating underwater.

Faye moved closer to him in her sleep, her cheek pressed up against his shoulder. Spike closed his eyes, the warmth of her body against his bringing back painful memories. _It rains too much in Tharsis_, he decided as he wiped a wet sleeve across his face in a vain attempt to dry himself. It had rained the day he had first taken Julia to the Sicilian so many years ago. He had brought her there six days after they had met when Vicious asked him to watch over her while he went off on a dangerous assignment. He remembered every detail of that night as if it had happened the night before.

The sun had just begun to set when he had picked her up at her upscale apartment. She had been wearing a collared white blouse, a dark blue skirt that reached just below her knees, and vintage black heels.

A sudden downpour had sent them scurrying into the nearest cab, Spike holding his brown leather jacket over their heads in a futile attempt to keep dry. Laughing like little children, they had run breathlessly from the car and into the restaurant where they stood dripping before the shocked host. With a disdainful look at their wet clothes, the man had shown them to a table against the far wall facing the windows. She had smiled at him then, a sad smile that spoke of a life of sadness and pain. Unable to stop himself, he had taken her slim hand in his own, squeezing it gently, telling her silently that he would always protect her. The candlelight had danced in her eyes.

They had started in the rain and ended in the rain.

Faye murmured against his shoulder and Spike put an arm around her as the chill inside the small ship sharpened. Wordlessly, he took the controls and lifted the Swordfish up off the roof, taking her up above the clouds and out of the rain. Skimming low over the tops of the clouds, he gazed out at the many stars up above and wondered which one out there was tied to him.

The Swordfish dipped low, cutting back through the clouds and circled down to land gently on the deck of the Bebop. The hangar was dark and cold as Spike carefully carried Faye through the ship, leaving dripping wet footprints in his path.

"Where have you been!"

Spike turned towards a very angry, very tired looking Jet standing in hall behind him. "You waited up for us?"

"No! I was—What's wrong with Faye?"

"Keep it down, Jet, she's asleep."

"I thought…oh…" Jet grumbled, rubbing his neck and letting out a breath.

Spike smiled slightly at his old friend's concern. Despite how much Jet claimed otherwise, he was like an old dog whose bark was much worse than his bite. If you were on his side. He turned and walked silently down the hall towards the crew quarters. The door to Faye's room slid open with a hiss and he slipped inside, tripping over something in the darkness.

With a muttered curse, he gently laid Faye down on her bed, removing his wet jacket. She curled around herself and shivered. He looked down at her through the gloom. With a sigh he grabbed a baggy t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts from the floor, closed his eyes, and managed to get her out of her damp dress and into dry clothes without any mishaps. Pulling her covers back, he gently laid them down over her sleeping form, pausing to brush a few stray hairs from her face. The door hissed shut behind him, leaving the room in darkness.

Spike sauntered tiredly through the dark ship and found Jet sitting alone at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in hand. Spike slumped down into a chair across from him with a groan, grateful to finally be able to take the weight off of his aching feet.

Jet looked at him as he folded his arms on the table. "So what's going on between you and Faye?" he asked quietly, taking in his friend's bedraggled appearance.

Spike rested his head in his arms, exhausted, and mumbled something inaudibly.

Jet got up and brought back a second cup of coffee, setting it before his partner. "Come on, Spike, you don't pull what you've been pulling over the last few days and tell me nothing is going on."

Spike accepted the cup gratefully and sipped from it careful not to burn his tongue. He shrugged.

Jet leaned back in his chair. "What happened tonight? You two looked like a pair of drowned rats."

A brief smile crossed Spike's lips. "It rained," he mumbled into his cup.

"All right, Spike," Jet said with a tired sigh and turned to go. "You can keep your secrets. You seem to be forming quite a collection." His boots clunked across the metal floor of the galley.

"I found her."

Jet stopped be the door and turned to face his companion who was staring down into his cup. "What?"

"I found her, Jet," Spike said looking up.

Jet said nothing.

"She was going to kill me," Spike chuckled humorlessly. "But she never did had the nerve for killing," he said quietly. Jet leaned back against the doorframe without a word and crossed his arms.

"She's dead, Jet. She was what made me want to go on living and now she's gone." Spike's eyes dropped to the metal surface of the table. "Because I wasn't able to protect her," he whispered.

Jet sat down in front of his friend. "Is that why you were gone for so long?"

Spike nodded. "I had no reason stay alive. I killed Vicious, thought he done me the same favor, but I somehow managed to survive."

They sat in silence for a few long moments. Jet put a hand on Spike's damp shoulder. "I, for one, am glad you're back," he said gruffly.

Spike nodded silently.

"You have to let her go, Spike."

Spike looked at him blankly. "Let her go."

"Time doesn't stand still. I learned that the hard way," Jet said. "What's in the past is there for good and nothing you can do will bring it back."

Spike grunted.

"Get some rest, big day tomorrow," Jet said, standing.

Spike sat in the empty kitchen for some time, the cool air in the drafty ship quickly chilling his wet clothes. He grunted and stood stretching his stiff muscles. Once in his room he pealed away his damp shirt, laying it and his jacket to dry over the vents in the wall. He hung his pants from a shelf, hoping that they would be dry enough by the time they had to go the next day and slipped into a pair of worn sweat pants.

His mind a tumult of contradictory emotions, he collapsed onto his rumpled bed and drifted into a troubled sleep.

* * *

Faye opened her eyes slowly, her vision adjusting gradually to the darkness. For a moment she was disoriented, unable to remember where she was or how she had gotten there, as she pushed back the blanket that was draped over her. She realized with a jolt that she was in her room that she was no longer in her dress but in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

With a yawn she stood blearily and shuffled to the door. The clock on the table read eight thirty. _It's _so _early..._ She groaned, rubbing her eyes and wishing she could have had more sleep. When she walked into the kitchen a gruff Jet and a cup of hot coffee waited at the table. She accepted the mug gratefully.

"Rough night?"

Faye bobbed her head sleepily, sipping from the steaming contents of her mug and letting the sweet aroma of the coffee awaken her muddled senses.

Spike was already sitting at the table; a half burned cigarette lay forgotten in an ashtray beside him as he leafed through the pile of papers before him. He looked tired. His shoulders were tense and his face was drawn, his deep brown eyes red and a little puffy as if he'd had trouble sleeping. He glanced at her as she sat down and went back to his papers without a word.

Faye felt a stab of guilt as she remembered how he had carried her when the heel of her shoe had broken. He must have carried her all the way to the ship and she must have fallen asleep on the way. It must have been he who put her in bed and changed her clothes. Her cheeks reddened.

She fiddled with her mug for a moment. "Thanks for—"

"Whatever," he muttered, his eyes never leaving the page they were skimming.

Faye stared down into her mug, silently, not knowing whether she was too tired or too ashamed to respond. Her mind was awash with conflicting emotions as she sat stiffly in her chair.

Jet sat silently in the common room watching the two through the kitchen door as they sat mutely at the table. There was definitely something going on, but it seemed that neither of the two stubborn fools were going to admit it to anyone, not even to themselves. Jet had seen this kind of attitude before; he knew it very well, having taken done the same himself when he was younger.

He looked down at his hands, quietly contemplating the hard contours of his prosthetic limb. He could have had it replaced with a more modern counterpart, one that would have allowed him to feel as if it had been his real arm. An improvement on the original design, they had called it. The metal hand clenched into a fist. He had refused. There was no sense into pretending that the past had never happened.

Spike and Faye were like a part of him now. The three of them were the only members of a sad little family made up of lost and wandering souls seeking solace in each other simply for the sake of a shared understanding. After all, misery did love company. He didn't know what he would do if he lost either of them again. There was no prosthesis for the loss of a friend.

Spike rose from the table and gathered his papers. He paused, looking down at Faye as she stared into her cooling coffee. Without a word he walked out of the kitchen, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze as he past. Jet shook his head. There was definitely something going on.

* * *

"Ok, here's the deal," Jet began as he sat across the common room table from his two younger partners. "You'll both be wearing these ear pieces," he said holding up two of what looked like tiny flesh colored beans. Spike grunted as he examined one of the tiny devices. "And you'll each have mics on you so we can communicate. Just try not to draw attention to yourselves. People might start getting suspicious if they spot you talking to thin air," he gave them a meaningful look.

Spike yawned.

"You two remember the plan? Faye you make contact with the target and get close to him. When the target moves to the after party, you move with him, Spike, you tail them." Spike grunted. "Draw him out into the open and when you've got an opening pull your gun and we'll pick him up."

Faye nodded quietly. "Do we have a back up plan or something?"

"Yeah," Spike snorted. "It's called don't fuck up plan A."

Faye scowled. "Why don't you just focus on holding up your end of the deal," she sneered.

"Would you two quit!" he grimaced. "We leave in an hour, for chrissake!"

Spike and Faye rolled their eyes in unison.

* * *

Faye stood before her mirror inspecting herself from head to toe. The gown she wore was long and well designed. _Classy_, she thought smugly. The flowing black fabric hugged her curves accentuating her figure, flaring out elegantly at the hips until it touched the floor, the back scooping gracefully, a long slit reaching to her mid thigh. Her hair was piled atop her head in a mess of loose strands and twisting curls and a pair of white crystal drops dangled sparkling from her ears, a matching pendant hanging from a thin silver chain round her neck. She smiled at herself, dark, smoky eyes following the design of tiny golden dragons embroidered subtly onto the fabric of her gown as she put the tiny transmitter device in her ear.

Five o'clock. It was show time. With a calming breath she centered herself and walked quickly down the hall, her slightly more sensible heels clicking on the metal floor. Wrapping a gauzy black stole around her shoulders, she pulled on a pair of black elbow length gloves as she entered the common room and found Spike lying on the couch, in a remarkably unwrinkled black tux, fast asleep.

"Spike?"

"Huh, what?" he sat up blearily. "What you want?"

"Uh, the bounty?"

Spike snapped awake as if he had had ice water dumped over his head, his eyes focusing on her with disconsertning intensity. He stood and looked her up and down. "It's good to see you learned from last night," he said heading for the door. He paused and looked at her for a moment. "How do you expect to catch him without a gun?"

Faye smirked as she slipped her hand into the slit at her thigh and pulled out a small, sleek weapon. She raised her eyebrows as if to ask if she had answered his question. Spike shook his head and snorted as he turned and left the room.

Faye rolled her eyes as she followed him, thankful that they would not be sharing a single ship since Jet had managed to fix the right thruster of the Redtail after much muttering about how the damage looked suspiciously like weapons fire. Spike disappeared into the Swordfish and took off as she closed her own hatch and powered up her ship. The Redtail purred to life beneath her and she smiled. The ship had always been faithful to her, pulling through when she had needed it most. She shot towards the glimmering lights of the city, grinning with anticipation.

* * *

Jet perched on the roof of the building across the street from the Jade Dragon watching as the fancily dressed guests arrived in their town cars and limos. It was a very high profile event being the by-centennial anniversary of the opening of the theatre and the birthday of its notable owner. Jet had been able to recognize quite a few famous faces as they walked down the red carpet that had been laid from the sidewalk to the entrance waving at the crowd that had gathered hoping to catch a glimpse of the glamour.

He set down his binoculars for a moment and checked his watch. Six thirty. _Those idiots had better hurry up and get here. The show starts in half an hour!_ Jet scowled, checking his watch for the fortieth time.

A commotion down below prompted him to pick up his binoculars again. A long white limo had pulled up to the red carpet much to the delight of the mass of paparazzi that were hovering like vultures over a dead carcass, flash bulbs blinking erratically. Jet had to squint to make out the tall figure that stepped out of the car, long golden hair flowing over the shoulders of a pristine white suit.

"Gotcha…" Jet said softly as the figure turned and waved at the mob of screaming people. "Idiots," he muttered. "They have no idea."

An old fashioned black limousine pulled up behind the long white auto as Sanders disappeared into the theatre. Jet swiveled his attention to the newly arrived car and whistled. It must have been a genuine gasoline powered car! Those had gone out of style decades ago. He had thought they had all been melted down for scrap metal.

A woman in a black floor length gown stepped out of the shining black vehicle. She was so familiar…Jet choked, nearly dropping his binoculars. "Faye! How the hell…" He peered furiously through his binoculars as Faye smiled broadly, posing for the over eager cameramen as they jostled with each other for position. Jet shook his head as she blew a kiss to the frantic photographers and disappeared through the huge doors after Sanders.

"There's a good girl," Jet muttered to himself. "Now where is Spike…" He scanned the crowd, cursing Spike for his tardiness.

A tall dark haired bombshell of a woman in a short red dress so tight it could have been painted on had just stepped out of the passenger side of a flashy red sports car, drawing the attention of the spectators. She turned back to the car and leaned down into the driver's window. Cameras flashed wildly.

Jet panned while the raucous mob was occupied by the display before them. A tuft of green hair detached from the crowd and slipped into the shadows behind one of the tall red columns. Jet focused his sights as Spike's lanky figure darted into the large open theatre doors.

Showtime.

Spike quickly scanned the crowd inside the lobby as he melted into the shifting crowd. The huge front lobby was full of gaudily dressed people of all shapes and sizes talking animatedly in tight clumps underneath the sweeping crystal chandeliers. A horse faced woman with a particularly piercing laugh let loose a shrieking howl laughter when a large beefy man with a heavy gold chain around his thick neck pinched her bottom. Spike slipped behind an ice sculpture of a mermaid with flowing hair that covered her bare breasts as she looked out over the guests with an inviting gaze.

From his vantage point Spike could survey the entire room without hindrance. A massive tapestry hung on the far wall over the crowd depicting a green dragon wrapped around the trunk of a cherry tree, pink blossoms drifting down all around it and onto crisp white snow and a second ice sculpture, this one of a prowling lion, stood by the crowded open bar. He could see neither Sanders nor Faye anywhere.

Faye drifted through the crowd, stopping to chat every now and then with a richly dressed guest as she made her way steadily towards the wide sweeping stairs that lead to the second floor. She had seen Sanders pass through the vast double doors of the theatre smiling as cameras flashed at him from all sides, but she had lost him in the sea of people once he had gotten inside. Faye winked at a young server holding a large tray, taking a tall glass of bubbly amber liquid she passed. Scanning the faces around her over the rim of her drink she slipped quickly toward her goal.

The stairs were white marble shot through with dark gray and gold veins that reflected light from the ornate lamps that hung on the walls at evenly spaced intervals. Faye paused to look out over the sea of faces as she made her way up the stairs. Across the long room a frozen mermaid glittered above an enormous seashell shaped bowl of punch.

Spike winced as his earpiece crackled suddenly to life. _"Spike! Spike can you hear me?"_

"Jesus, Jet!" he hissed as he adjusted the tiny receiver pinned to the inside of his collar and scanned the room once more. "You don't have to yell, you're in my damn ear for chrissake."

Jet spared no time for an apology. _"Do you see him?"_

"Nope."

Jet cursed. _"What about Faye?"_

Spike squinted as he searched the far end of the room. Someone was making their way to the second level, elegant black dress a stark contrast to the white marble of the stairs. She stopped and turned to look over the crowd. "Yup."

"_Have you made contact yet?"_

"I'm about to."

The second floor lobby was almost as packed as the first when Faye entered it. She set her glass down on a table, her eyes searching for the telltale white suit and golden hair. For a man with such particular fashion tastes he was certainly difficult to spot. She grimaced as a woman in a garish neon green dress made of bird feathers and what looked to be a dyed burlap sack marched past with a tiny poodle nestled in her bag. The dog was the same sickening shade of green as the dress.

"Did you find him yet?"

Faye jumped slightly as she felt someone brush her back slightly and warm breath tickled her ear. "We have ear pieces for a reason," she gritted through the immensely fake smile that she sent at a large woman in a plaid dress suit as she walked by.

"Well?" Spike murmured as he stood beside her and facing the opposite direction, pretending to adjust his well polished silver cuff links.

"No. You?"

Spike snagged a glass from a passing waiter as a group of chattering women passed close by. "Nope," he muttered once he was sure no one would hear.

Faye moved out into the center of the crowded room, leaving Spike standing by the table beside the bar. A hand settled on the small of her back. "Well look who we have here…"

Spike turned in time to see Faye intercepted by a tall man with dark hair dressed in an expensive looking black suit. "You've got to be kidding," Spike muttered as the big man began to lead Faye off in the opposite direction.

"Faye! Faye what are you doing? This is not the time to get revenge."

"I can't!" Faye muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Mr. Anderson. I was just so happy to see you again!" she oozed.

"Please, call me Matt."

Faye smiled outrageously up at him. "All right, _Matt_."

Spike scowled. Suddenly he saw a flash of white in the corner of his eye. "Faye! It's Sanders. He's heading for the balcony."

"You're so much better looking than my _last _date, and you're well mannered and _charming_. He was so—" The white suit disappeared out onto the balcony.

He clenched his jaw and grabbed the transmitter on his collar, giving it a sharp twist.

Faye clapped a hand to her ear as the feedback skittered piercingly down her spine and stumbled into the dark haired man's arms.

"Are you all right!"

"_What the hell is going on!"_ Jet's voice crackled roughly.

Faye managed a feeble smile. "Oh I'm so sorry, Matt." She threw a hateful glare over Matt's shoulder in Spike's direction. "I think I just need some fresh air. It's so _hot _in here." She fanned herself breathlessly with one hand.

"Anything you want, babe."

Spike watched in disgust as Faye let the man lead her out onto the balcony.

The cool air felt good after the warmth of the crowd. The balcony was an extension of the second floor lobby, the gauzy white curtains that hung down from the arched doorway acted as a sort of separation flowed in the gentle night breeze. Several people stood talking, preferring the clear night air to the press of the interior. Faye leaned against the balustrade with feigned faintness.

"Matt," She put a hand to her forehead daintily. "I'm feeling a bit faint. Would you get me a glass of water?"

"Yeah, uh…you got it…" he said and dove back into the shifting crowd.

"Ugh, idiot," Faye muttered to herself as she carefully examined the other guests that shared the balcony with her. Her brow furrowed slightly. Where was Sanders?

"My, my, my," a voice said from behind her. "A woman of your beauty should never be left unattended."

Spike hung back behind one of the doorframes and listened to Faye's uneven breathing through his earpiece. "Come on, Faye, pull it together," he muttered as Faye turned to face their target.

"Who're you talking to, good lookin'?"

Spike's head swiveled to the source of the question, his gaze halting on the curvaceous woman that stood beside him, her brazen gaze heating his blood. His eyes slid down her taught body taking in the devious smile, the impossibly tight red dress and sensual curves. Her smile broadened as he raised his eyes back to hers with some difficulty.

"What's an attractive man such as yourself doing out here all alone?" she asked, as she hooked a finger in his belt and lead him out onto the balcony.

Spike could say nothing, her spicy perfume driving all coherent thought from his mind.

"Strong silent type, huh?" She pouted, as she leaned back onto the railing giving him a complete and unimpeded view of her body. "That's all right," she purred, pulling him against her. "I don't need you to talk," she whispered silkily against his ear as she nibbled his earlobe. Her heady sent swirled around him as everything fell away but the woman in his arms.

Faye turned to face Sanders slowly, a sultry smile playing across her lips. He was just as she remembered him. The painfully attractive face and brilliantly blue eyes that were so different from Spike's darkly striking features were exactly the same as they had been years ago; his finely tailored suit glowed faintly in the moonlight.

"You flatter me," she said softly, surprised at the steadiness in her own voice.

"I haven't even begun to do you justice," he said with a charming smile, holding out a beautiful red long stemmed rose in one elegant long fingered hand.

Faye took the blood red bloom and returned the smile, her mind screaming for her to run and hide while she still had legs to carry her. Her eyes slipped past Sanders for a moment and landed on a passionately interlocked couple several yards away. Her brows twitched as she took a closer look at the couple. The woman wore a shockingly shameless dress and the man…he looked so familiar but she couldn't see his face clearly and at that distance she couldn't be sure…

She heard a throaty laugh come through her earpiece. The woman dropped her head to the side as the man began to kiss her neck, his hands wandering along her long legs. "I…told you, you wouldn't…have to….talk…"

Faye's teeth clenched as the movements of the woman's mouth matched perfectly with the words she was hearing.

"You don't like it?"

Faye jumped a little at Sanders' smooth voice as he addressed her. What was Spike thinking! Was that jealousy? _Idiot_, she cursed herself. _Idiot!_

"Yes, yes of course! It's lovely," she laughed tightly as she held the red rose. "I just have a bit of a headache," she said wincing slightly. She twisted the glittering pear shaped crystal at her neck as she smiled up at Sanders.

Spike gasped in pain at the sudden explosion of crackles and squeals in his right ear.

"All you all right?" The woman asked, putting a hand on his arm and as she pressed against him.

Spike looked at her, the pain clearing the passion-fueled haze from his mind for a moment. "Whoa, what are you doing?"

The woman looked up at him through half lidded eyes. "_We _were exploring each others…better traits," she murmured softly as she began to lazily kiss his neck.

He took a sharp breath, blinking dizzily as he inhaled her spicy sent. "What…" he put a hand to his head. "Stop," he grunted and pushed the woman away from him.

"Awww, don't be shy," she purred silkily. "We were only just getting started." She pressed against him again, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt.

A second wave of hissing squeals made him wince, his jaw clenching.

"_Bitch,_" he muttered, his ear ringing with the after effects of the brutal screeching he had just endured. He was going to kill Faye when this was over. The slap he received across the face took him completely by surprise and sent him staggering back a few steps.

"What the hell?" he said indignantly, holding his slightly reddening cheek.

"You pig!" the woman cried, hurriedly fixing her mussed hair. "I should have you arrested!"

"For what, letting you come on to me?" Spike shot back at her, rubbing his stinging cheek and ignoring the scandalized looks shot his way from the indignant spectators. "I should be asking you how much I owe you."

"You're disgusting!"

"You weren't complaining a few minutes ago!" he shouted after her as he mentally cursed all women and their vengeful ways. What the hell had gotten into him? He looked around at the now uncomfortably silent people on the balcony all of whom were staring at him. Faye twisted her pendant again.

He clapped a hand to his ear and cursed loudly as the crackling squeals jabbed his eardrum for the third time. He ground his teeth.

"Do you know him?" he heard Sanders ask through Faye's transmitter.

"That nut-job?" Faye responded with a derisive laugh. "I certainly hope not."

Spike clenched his fists as Faye's remark sent an unreasonable anger coursing through him. Inside, a gong sounded.

"Shall we?" Sanders offered Faye his arm. "I have most excellent seats and would be greatly honored to have you by my side."

Faye smiled and slipped her arm through his as he lead her back into the still crowded lobby, leaving Spike to stand alone on the balcony.

* * *

The lights in the house dimmed as Faye and Sanders took their seats in the plush little private viewing box. Drums began to beat off in the darkness accompanied by a series of clacks and the sound of a clashing gong. A man stepped out into the spotlight, his golden lion costume glimmering in sharp contrast to the blackness all around him. There was a great metal clang and he had transformed into a golden warrior with a long polished wooden sword.

"I have always enjoyed the theatre," Sanders murmured in her ear.

"Me too, Mr…. ah, I'm sorry," she smiled. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

Sanders turned to look directly into her eyes. "Don't you?"

Faye's breath caught as she stared back at him. "I…ah…"

"There's been so much television coverage lately, what with my new charity bringing in unprecedented amounts of money and support," he said leaning back in his chair and looking out over the stage where two men battled with long wooden swords. "I thought you might have seen it."

"Ah…of course."

"Julian Bordeaux," he said holding out his hand.

"J-Julia…Craig," she managed, feigning shyness to mask her stumble over the name as he took her hand and kissed it.

"The pleasure is all mine…Julia," he said, his voice dark as velvet. Faye smiled weakly.

Spike leaned against the balcony railing with a cigarette clenched in his teeth as he waited for the show to pause for an intermission. He had watched in silent anger as Sanders had led Faye away, a stab of unexpected jealousy lancing through him. Shaking his head he had shoved the emotion aside, convincing himself that he was just angry with Faye for trying to deafen him, his ear still buzzing slightly and at himself for letting his self control get away from him.

He took a drag as he listened to their quiet conversation and nearly swallowed his tongue when he heard the name Faye had used. Throwing his cigarette on the ground he sauntered into the empty lobby and headed for the open bar on the far wall where a harassed looking bartender was drying clean glasses.

"Whisky," Spike grunted as he dropped onto one of the tall stools.

The bartender eyed him as he continued to wipe wet glasses with a white rag. "Not going to watch the show?"

Spike shook his head.

"Bad night?"

Spike scowled. "Women."

The man chuckled. "I feel you, man," he said sympathetically as he poured a couple shots of amber liquid and set them on the bar before Spike. "On the house."

Spike toasted the man with the first shots before downing it quickly in one gulp, grimacing as the burning liquor slid down his throat. "This shit never gets better," he muttered, downing the second.

* * *

The lights come up for intermission to roaring applause as the audience stood and cheered wildly. Faye rose quickly.

"If you'll excuse me, Julian, I must go find the ladies room," she smiled and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "I won't be long."

He caught her arm as she turned to go. The look in his cold blue eyes made her mouth go dry. "I'll be waiting."

She slipped out of the tiny room and walked quickly towards the bathroom, ducking into a side hallway just before she reached the large wooden doors that lead to the women's lounge area. She found Spike leaning casually against the wall around the corner, idly smoking a cigarette, the top few buttons of his shirt and his tie still undone and hanging loosely around his neck from when that whore of a woman had decided she wanted to undress him right there on the balcony in front of everyone.

"What the hell were you thinking!" she hissed at him angrily taking in his rumpled appearance.

"What the hell were _you _thinking, _J-J-Julia_," he retorted. "You trying to blow our cover?"

Faye blushed furiously. "Me! You're the one who suddenly decided you wanted to score with some _bimbo_ in front of—"

Spike glared down contemptuously at her. "I think you're jealous."

"Incredible! You are so full of yourself!"

Spike crossed his arms angrily. "What about _Julien_?" he asked saying the name disgustedly, drawing it out with an outrageous French accent.

"He's waiting in the theatre," she said snidely. "I'll let you know if anything else happens." She turned on her heel and stalked out of the small hallway and disappeared into the crowd.

"I hear and obey," Spike muttered as he glared at her receding figure. Jet's voice crackled in his ear.

"_Spike, what's going on?"_

"The stupid woman is trying to blow our cover," he muttered.

"_Put your damn ego aside and focus on the job, Spike,"_ Jet growled. _"Where are they now?" _

"Private viewing boxes."

"_Good, keep an eye on them."_

"Yeah, yeah."

* * *

The lights were falling once more as Faye slipped into the dark viewing box.

"I thought you'd left me," Sanders said quietly as she sat beside him once more.

"Of course not," she said putting her hand on his with a small smile. "I would be missing out on an amazing opportunity."

Sanders sat quietly for a moment regarding her with icy blue eyes in the dim light. Faye shifted uncomfortably under his raptor gaze. "Let's leave," he murmured.

Faye blinked. "Leave?" She had begun to feel slightly light headed.

Sanders smiled and leaned toward her. "We can get a head start on Mr. Tanaka's celebration," he whispered in her ear. "Maybe have a little wine in the car on the way. I have a lovely shiraz I've been dying to try." Faye closed her eyes trying to quash the revulsion she could feel bubbling inside her as his breath tickled her neck. She squeezed her knees together slightly feeling the reassuring shape of her gun pressed against her inner thigh.

"Come," he said bringing her to her feet. "My car is waiting outside."

"But the show…"

"There will be other shows," he said as he pushed her gently towards the door.

Spike ducked behind one of the large plush chairs that were clustered around the large lobby as one of the doors to the private boxes opened and Sanders along with a slightly dazed looked Faye stepped out.

"What the hell are you doing," he muttered. "Jet, they're leaving early."

"_What? Where are they going?"_

"His car. He said something about getting a head start on the party," he said, whispering as he watched the pair leaving from behind the large chair. "I'm gonna follow them."

Spike quickly pulled off his shoes as Faye and Sanders moved down the sweeping marble staircase and slipped after them, his sock covered feet not making a sound on the white stone stairs. His eyes narrowed as Faye swayed slightly and grasped Sanders' arm for supports. Something was wrong.

The main lobby was completely empty as Spike ducked behind the abandoned bar at the foot of the stairs, his quarry moving across the middle of the well-lit room. He slipped quickly past tables covered with empty glasses and half eaten hors devours and crept silently out onto the open foyer, pressing his back up against the shadowed side of one of the large pillars. From the shadows he watched as Sanders opened the door of his gleaming white limousine and Faye stepped inside. The car pulled away into the darkness.

"Jet, do you see them?" he asked as he hurriedly put his shoes back on, stealth no longer necessary.

"_I got them. They're headed for the mansion."_

Spike sprinted through the shadows and leapt down the terraced levels in front of the Jade Dragon until he reached the street, his shoes slapped loudly on the hard pavement as he ran for the Swordfish. With a flying leap he scrambled up onto his ship and dropped inside, the canopy hissing shut behind him.

"Where are they now?"

"_I lost them,"_ Jet growled. _"Faye's com is out, I can't get a lock on her signal. Hurry the hell up!" _

Spike powered up the engines and pushed the throttle to full power sending the ship hurtling up into the dark sky. He could see the Hammerhead lifting off from one of the buildings down below.

"Do you see them?" Jet asked as he scanned the streets below.

"_I got nothing. They're gone."_

"Damnit!" Jet snarled slamming his fist into a malfunctioning control. The little screen went blank for a moment before popping back to life with a fizzle.

"Wine?"

Faye stared stupidly at the glass of rose-colored liquid that wavered before her unfocused eyes. She blinked trying to clear the haze from her vision as she sat in the soft black leather seats of the long limousine. Sanders' face swam into view, his hawk like gaze piercing through the fog. She shook her head trying to focus her thoughts but they scattered like grains of sand upon the wind.

"Where…" her head lolled to the side, her muscles no longer able to hold the weight.

"Shhh," Sanders whispered, putting a long slender finger to her lips. "Don't talk, it ruins the mood."

Faye squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'm impressed, Ms. Valentine," his voice skittered down her spine as he ran a finger down her neck and along her arm. She tried to move but her body refused to respond. "Not many have been able to withstand my…charms…for so long," he said holding up a tiny glass vial of clear liquid.

"W…what's…wrong…with me…" she slurred managing to lift her head a fraction, as fear overrode all feelings of revulsion. He knew who she was.

"Oh that would be the normal effects of the chemically enhanced pheromones I was wearing tonight," he replied blandly, gesturing with the tiny vial. "You see," he went on. "The human body has an incredible array of sensory receptors. This lovely little concoction contains chemicals that are absorbed by the olfactory sensors of women, you in particular, and sent directly to the brain where they proceed to befuddle, as it were, the synapses that allow the transfer of movement commands from your brain to your muscles. Isn't that clever?"

The red rose dropped to the floor, Faye's leaden fingers unable to keep their hold on the slender stem as she blacked out.


	8. Mark of the Beast

**Midnight Blues**

**8. The Mark of the Beast**

Tall grass swayed in the warm summer breeze as the sun shown down through the big puffy white clouds that floated across the bright blue sky. A large golden butterfly fluttered among the brightly colored wild flowers that dotted the field. Laughter floated on the breeze. A little girl ran happily through the tall grass laughing as a tall man chased after her, his eyes twinkling with merriment. He caught up to her, scooping her up into his arms and kissing her forehead tenderly.

"Come on, Faye, momma made us a big lunch and we're going to be late if we don't hurry!"

The little girl squealed with delight as her father lifted her onto his shoulders and began to jog towards a large white house perched on the crest of a low rising hill overlooking the sparkling blue bay on the other side. A woman in white wearing a wide brimmed straw hat to cover her flowing auburn hair stood by the gate and waited for the two to join her.

Laughing, the little girl ran to her mother's side, wrapping her tiny arms around the woman's slender waist and pressed her face against her stomach.

"I love you, Mamma."

The woman laughed softly. "I love you, too, my little Faye."

The sunlight wavered and darkness fell as the wind began to howl, tearing at the little girl as if possessed by demons. "Mamma!" the little girl screamed as she lost contact with her mother's arms. "Mamma!" Shadows fell over her in the darkness as the wind continued to scream across the grassy field.

"Faye!" Her father's voice was faint over the storm. "Faye where are you!" His voice faded away, torn from her by the raging winds.

"Papa!"

"Faye…" 

The little girl searched frantically about, tears streaming down her frightened face.

"Faye…" 

"Papa?"

A hand touched her face, caressing her cheek gently. "Faye…wake up, Faye."

Her eyes fluttered open. She was lying on her back on a soft bed; candles flickered around the room casting a wavering light that did nothing to pierce the darkness gathering at the edges of the richly furnished room. The sound of laughter and many voices filtered faintly through the shadowed ceiling.

"Ungh…"

"Hush, my child," a voice whispered from beside her. "You've been unconscious for quite a while. It will take some time for your sedative to wear off completely."

"Uhn…ghh.." Faye struggled against her unresponsive body, her mind screaming, trapped inside its cage of flesh and bone, as her eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling. The presence beside her shifted, leaning over her.

"Now, now," the smooth masculine voice said chidingly as if he were scolding a disobedient child. "Don't you worry. I won't start until you are in complete control of all your faculties." The hand traced the line of her jaw and slid down her neck coming to rest on her collarbone. "It is very important that you feel everything," he whispered against her ear. "It will give me so much pleasure to hear you scream…" Faye jerked involuntarily as his tongue flicked out to taste her neck.

"Ah good," the presence moved away from her. "It looks like we won't be waiting long."

Faye's mind whirled franticly as she tried move, but her body lay as still as the bed she had found herself on. There was a knock on the door somewhere off to her left; the sound of the door opening was followed and a hushed conversation, a feminine voice joining the first voice she had already begun to recognize.

The bed creaked as someone sat beside her on the soft covers. "It seems, my dear, that I have been missed upstairs." He sighed. "But I shall return to your side, my lovely Faye." Sanders' terribly beautiful face came into her line of sight as he leaned over her and caressed her cheek. He smiled. "Don't go wandering off while I'm gone." And then he was gone, chuckling to himself as he closed the door behind him, leaving Faye in the dimly lit room, alone and unable to move.

* * *

"Where the hell did they go!" Spike snarled punching the cement wall of the squat warehouse he and Jet had commandeered to use as their center of operations while they searched desperately for some sign of Faye or Sanders. "I should have grabbed him when I had the chance," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Spike, that wasn't part of the plan," Jet said gruffly as he tried to locate Faye's signal on his tracking systems.

"Look where _the plan_ got us! Faye could be—"

"And if you'd jumped him while he was surrounded by all those people, what do you think would have happened?"

"They were alone in the box—"

"Do you really think that would have done you any good? He could have been armed. If you'd surprised him, who knows what he would have done when he was backed into a corner!"

Spike stood seething mutely as blood trickled from his clenched fist.

"The man is dangerous—"

"Yeah thanks for reminding me—"

"And you need to start treating him with the respect he deserves!" Jet shouted, his eyes burning in Spike's direction. "You're not the only one here worried about Faye, Spike," he said softly.

Spike glared down at Jet where he sat on an overturned crate, his anger boiling just beneath the surface as he thought of what Sanders might be doing to Faye as they sat there doing nothing. His stomach clenched as his mind replayed the images of Sanders' victims, their blood spattered bodies twisted and torn, internal organs spread out horribly around them.

"We have to find her."

Jet scowled as he worked on the tracking device. "I'm _working _on it," he growled. "If you don't think I'm doing a good enough job, you do it."

The sound of cars whizzing by on the motorway nearby filled the silence like the rushing of a large river in the distance. "I'm going after them."

"You don't even know where they are! They could be anywhere!"

"Look, Jet," Spike growled. "He said he wanted to get a head start on the party. The party is at Tanaka's."

"Spike—"

"It's the only thing we've got!" Spike shouted. Jet sighed heavily and shook his head as Spike turned on his heel and stalked out of the dimly lit warehouse towards the Swordfish.

His anger drove him onwards as he leapt into his ship and shot up into the night sky, his eyes hard with determination as he flew towards the more upscale Tharsis neighborhoods where Yoichi Tanaka kept his considerable estate. The sprawling white building came into view within a few minutes, its beautiful roman columned façade lit by a series of bright spotlights that shown on it from the grounds.

The Swordfish plummeted towards the front drive of the manor, coming to a halt practically on top of the gleaming white stairs that led up to the house as several richly dressed guests dove out of the way. Spike leapt out of the ship and sprinted inside, drawing his gun as he entered.

Two men in black suits converged on him as he ran recklessly into the crowded foyer. Spike skidded to a halt as the two men leapt at him, the larger of the two tackling him to the floor as the other called for reinforcements. Spike dropped as the man hit him, slamming his feet square into the bigger man's chest and sending him crashing into a food-laden table behind him. Screaming erupted around them.

In the ensuing chaos Spike disappeared into the panicked crowd as several more men in black suits appeared on the premises and tried to shove their way through the terrified guests to reach him. Spike ran past a group of shocked women towards the interior of the house, shoving a light haired young man out of the way and sending him crashing to the floor, his tray of champagne classes shattering all around him.

Spike came to an abrupt stop when he reached a huge sweeping ballroom filled with hundreds of milling guests. His breath coming in sharp gasps, he scanned the room for any sign of Sanders or Faye, cursing when he did not see either of them.

Shouts from the direction in which he had come alerted him that the security had almost caught up with him. He hopped over the railing he had been clutching and landed lightly on the ballroom floor, startling a group of tastelessly dressed women into silence.

"Sorry, ladies," he grunted as he pushed through them roughly, their outraged cries falling on deaf ears as he dove into the sea of Mars' glitterati.

Spike muscled past a pair of powerfully built young men and came face to face with Timothy Sanders in the middle of the floor. He raised his gun. "Where is she?" he snarled.

Sanders' smiled cruelly as he looked down at Spike, his piercing blue eyes twinkled mercilessly.

"What did you do to her!"

Sanders' smile broadened. "Such emotion, such …_passion_," he breathed deeply as if taking some kind of sick pleasure in Spike's furry. The crowd surrounding the two men continued conversing, oblivious, as they faced off in their midst, completely unaware of the danger that hovered over them.

Spike felt a deadly calm come over him as he cocked his gun with a click. "Tell me where she is."

"Do put that away, Mr. Spiegel. You'll frighten the guests and I'm sure Mr. Tanaka would be very displeased if his birthday were ruined."

Spike's eyes narrowed as his anger faltered for an instant.

"My dear boy," Sanders chuckled. "Your reputation has quite preceded you."

Spike narrowed his eyes as he glared at Sanders, his mark never wavering. He smirked suddenly. "Well I'm flattered, really, Sanders, but right now, if you don't tell me where Faye is it'll be your brains they'll be scraping off of those lovely ladies standing behind you."

Sanders licked his fingers and smoothed his eyebrows as he regarded Spike calmly, a small smile curving his lips malevolently. In a flash he flicked his wrist in Spike's direction and darted back into the oblivious crowd. Spike hissed with pain as he clutched at the slim blade protruding from his shoulder, blood oozing from between his clenched fingers.

Clenching his teeth as he yanked the blade from his shoulder he took off after Sanders, who had disappeared through a dark hallway at the far end of the great ballroom, outraged guests complaining loudly as he sprinted past them. Spike peered into the dim passage, his right hand slippery with blood as he clutched his gun tightly. His eyes darted back and forth, searching for any signs of life, but the passage way was long and empty with no places for anyone or anything to hide. He sprinted down the hallway, his steps echoing loudly.

The passage split into two directions, both cloaked in complete darkness. Spike strained his ears, listening for footsteps or breathing, anything that might give away the location of his quarry. Nothing. Spike cursed mentally. Silently, he pressed himself against the wall, willing his senses to sharpen. His eyes narrowed. With a sharp curse, he dropped to the stone floor as a dagger whizzed out of the blackness and thudded into the wall where he had been standing just moments before. In an instant he was up and running down the passage where the projectile had come from, heedless of the darkness that pressed in on him from all sides.

* * *

Faye grunted in pain as she landed on the hard rug covered floor with a muffled thump. It had taken what had felt like hours, but she had finally managed to lever herself off of the bed as her numb body slowly regained functionality. Exhausted, she slumped against the plush carpet, her face pressed against the soft fibers panting from the immense effort it had taken to get off the bed as her eyes searched the poorly lit room from her low vantage point.

No one had come into the room since Sanders had left. She had not heard him lock the door and assumed that he had not since she could not have tried to escape in her current condition. The muffled drone voices from above continued uninterrupted as she had lay on the floor, the sound of light music drifting down to her every so often. Panic began to rise in her. She must have been there for hours for so many guests to arrive at the celebration from the theatre. With a grunt she managed to force her arms to move as whatever it was that Sanders had used on her began to lose effect.

The door opened. She heard muffled footsteps as someone approached, a pair of gleaming white shoes coming to a halt before her face. White pants creased as the figure kneeled before her and she was lifted gently into a sitting position, strong arms encircling her waist and holding her against a chest clad all in white.

"My dear, dear Faye," Sanders whispered, cradling her head against his chest and rocking her gently. "Why must you always try to hide from me?'

Faye struggled to push him away, but only managed to move her arm feebly.

"I've been searching for you for so long. I almost had you, you know, but I was young and careless then, mistaking your lovely dark haired friend for you. You can't imagine how disappointed I was when I discovered my mistake."

Faye grunted through clenched teeth as she tried to move away from him. Sanders chuckled, resting his chin on the top of her head. "You don't know how much I will enjoy our little session together," he whispered as he slipped his long fingers through her hair.

"I want to show you something," Sanders said softly, reaching up and taking a small black case off of the bedside table. He opened it with a soft click and lifted the lid back revealing row upon row of various blades, some serrated, some wide, some narrow, sizes ranging from twelve inches of gleaming steel to tiny blades the size of a her pinky finger, all laid out neatly in black velvet beds and polished to perfection.

Sanders ran his fingers lovingly over the gleaming blades, his fingers pausing over one razor sharp implement or another, skimming the care worn handles with a lovers caress.

Panic flared inside her, threatening to smother all coherent thought. The urge to flee surged through her as she panted hoarsely against his chest unable to move. A tear trickled down her cheek and Faye gagged, her mind unable to focus, fear overriding all common sense.

"Mmh..fu..ngh…yu…you…"

Sanders lashed out at her, a stinging slap sending her crumpling to the floor, tears streaming from her eyes. "Stupid woman," he hissed, his eyes glittering hatefully. "You're just like her, just like all of them! All you see is a monster when instead you should be seeing a god! I could have given you everything and instead you spit in my face!" He lunged forward, grabbing her neck in his powerful grip.

"Perhaps," he whispered harshly, his lips curling back menacingly. "You would like a taste of what is to come." Faye swallowed convulsively as she stared up at him in terror. He licked his thumb and ran it along the length of the sharp blade. "Just a little cut," he whispered leaning over her. "To leave my mark." His warm breath sent shivers running down her spine.

A scream tore from her throat as the sharp blade cut into her skin, searing hot pain lancing through her body. Sanders moved with a surgeon's precision, taking his time as Faye panted harshly beneath him, her body twitching and jerking as he carved a tiny symbol into her neck.

"Now you are mine," Sanders whispered on after a brief pause, letting her slump back onto the floor as she blacked out from the pain, his voice suddenly smooth and dark once more. "It seems that we will have to continue our little session later." He licked his fingers, smoothing his eyebrows as he regained his composure fully.

* * *

Spike slowed to a halt as he reached a fork in the dark passage. He turned back to look down the passage he had just come through, noting the gaping black openings to other passages that branched off into the dark labyrinth beneath the mansion. He cursed. Sanders could have ducked into any number of those passages and he wouldn't have noticed a thing in the darkness. Spike turned back to peer down the two dark passages on either side of him. Nothing, just like there had been nothing in the last passage, or the hallway before that, or the corridor before them both.

He started down the right passage and stopped. He turned and began to follow the other passage, stopping before he had gone ten paces and cursed furiously. In his headlong rush to catch his quarry he had allowed himself to become hopelessly lost in the maze of dark passages. Suddenly he had the strong feeling that he was just a rat in a maze being timed to see how long it would take him to reach the cheese at the end.

A thousand thoughts flooded his mind as he stood in the dark still clutching the blood-slicked Jericho in one hand. A scream shattered the oppressive silence like bomb, the hair on the back of Spike's neck rising as he whirled toward the chilling sound. The scream went on and on and on as he stood rooted to the spot, unable to block out the horrible sound of mortal agony. He felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

"Faye!"

Without a second thought he sprinted down the hall towards the ragged voice, his heart beating furiously in his chest, his breath ragged as he flew around corners. The scream intensified for an instant and then cut off with frightening finality. Spike slid around a sharp corner and stopped dead in front of a large wooden door, the shadowy symbols of a dragon and a tiger barely visible on its finely lacquered surface.

The silence pressed in on him like a living thing seeking to smother him as he approached the door slowly. He put a hand on the door gun ready. The instant he touched the wooden surface, the scream began again, interrupted by short, bubbling, terror filled gasps. He jerked back as if he had been burned.

"No…" the voice rasped. "Please…No!"

Spike leaned heavily on the wall as he gagged, the sounds of death filtering through the thick wood of the door. His head spun nauseatingly as he listened, unable to move as the sounds of tearing flesh and bone, of blood splattering onto the floor, the walls, the ceiling reached him. He was too late. He slid down the wall, his head in his hands as images of Julia's falling body hitting the ground flashed before his closed eyes. He'd failed again, failed again to protect the one he—

"SPIKE!" The voice rose above the sounds of carnage like bell. His head snapped up.

In an instant he was up on his feet, a powerful kick sending the door crashing open as he leapt into the dimly let room his gun leveled and ready. He stopped, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene before him. Faye was lying unconscious on the plush carpet, satiny black dress rumpled slightly, a trickle of blood running down her slim neck in stark contrast to her pale skin. His eyes fell upon a small recording device that sat on a table in the middle of the room emitting the sound of someone begging for mercy, the feeble voice all but a painful whisper.

Spike rushed to the bed as Faye began to stir. "Faye, Faye can you hear me? Faye!"

Her eyes fluttered open. "Spike?"

Spike felt relief flood over him as she whispered his name weakly. "Faye, listen to me," he said smoothing back her hair. "We're leaving, right now."

Faye shook her head. "Sanders…"

"Forget about Sanders, I'm going to get you—"

Faye's eyes widened as she grasped his jacket weakly, her breath wheezing as she struggled with her unresponsive body. "N…noo… S-Spike loo…ook—"

Spike froze as he felt the cold blade of a knife come to rest just under his chin.

"How quaint," a voice drawled from behind him. "Get up!" the voice barked, the knife digging into Spike's neck. A drop of blood dribbled down his neck and soaked into the collar of shirt, a small red stain blossoming on the white fabric. Spike stood slowly, his body relaxed.

"Turn around."

Spike turned, his eyes taking in the lay of the room, his arms at ease at his sides.

"Up against the wall."

Spike walked slowly over to the wall and leaned casually against it as Sanders continued to hold the knife to his throat. His eyes narrowed slightly as a woman walked through the door, a red dress hugging her figure as she stepped around an over turned footstool on the floor. Sanders smiled.

"You may remember my assistant Delilah?" He smirked at Spike as he glared at the woman. Faye stared in shock. Sanders went on, "But you must remember. I seem to recall your being particularly enamored of her when last you saw her."

Spike's mismatched russet eyes locked on Sanders' icy blues.

"Don't slight yourself, my dear boy. You wouldn't have been able to resist her charms if you'd wanted to." Spike glared at him mutely. "You see, Delilah was wearing a special brand of perfume, mine actually," he chuckled. "A special blend of enhanced pheromones meant to…excite… the sexual drive and create a bit of a distraction. Males are particularly sensitive to such stimulus." Spike's eyes flickered to Faye, her eyes wide with shock and pain as she recalled the scene on the balcony.

"Ah yes," Sanders laughed softly. "You would be in love with her, wouldn't you…" He smirked as he followed Spike's gaze. "Lovely little thing, isn't she?" he whispered conspiratorially. "I will enjoy tasting her blood when it has covered my hands—" Spike jerked, but was brought up short as the knife at his throat cut into him.

"Be very careful, _boy_," Sanders hissed. "It is foolish to anger a hungry dragon in his own lair." Spike narrowed his eyes.

Delilah retrieved the case of knives from the floor and set them on the table beside the bed. She tied Faye's wrists and ankles to the bed posts so that she was lying spread eagle on the bed and pulled out a long and wicked looking syringe and plunged it into Faye's neck with an almost gleeful smile at the scream that tore from Faye's throat. Spike's eyebrow twitched.

Pain shot through her entire being as the syringe was pulled from her body, the liquid that had been shot into her burning through her veins like fire. Faye gasped as her back arched up off the bed, her vision blurring. The pain cleared away the fog from her mind, tore away the invisible bonds holding her arms and legs from obeying her will and she arched against her bonds with a sharp hiss.

Spike stood against the wall, the wickedly curved knife held against his jugular, his face devoid of emotion. Sanders motioned Delilah to take his place and walked slowly toward the bed, selecting a long thin blade from the case on the table.

"You might be wondering how it is I have managed to accomplish all this," he said gesturing all around him. "But one has certain resources available when one has two syndicates at one's beck and call." Spike's eyes widened. "Oh you didn't know that? You surprise me, Mr. Spiegel. I thought you were more clever than that."

Sanders casually tested the sharpness of the blade against his thumb as he regarded Spike with cool blue eyes. He icked the blood from his thumb. "I think you're beginning to understand, my young friend, that you have gotten yourself into something much deeper than you thought, much more dangerous." He paused. "You're not afraid of dying, are you, Mr. Spiegel?"

Spike shrugged.

Sanders looked at him from under his eyebrows. "Well perhaps you should be," he said softly, his voice hanging darkly in the tension filled air.

Spike's eyes narrowed. In an instant he grabbed Delilah's arm, spun her around, wrenching her arm behind her back and held her knife to her own neck, his eyes remaining locked on Sanders'.

"That will not get you anywhere, I'm afraid," Sanders said placidly.

Delilah's eyes widened. "What!"

"She has been of use, but is of no great importance to me," Sanders gestured blandly as the frightened woman began to struggle in Spike's grasp.

Spike whipped the butt of his gun against the back of the woman's head, letting her drop unceremoniously to the ground with a thump. He leveled his gun at Sanders' head.

"And now?"

Sanders' smiled slightly. "A mere inconvenience," he replied, his hand flicking out. A knife flew past Spike's face, nicking his ear.

Spike snarled and fired a shot at Sanders but missed, his target having dropped out of the way. He lunged at the other man, aiming a kick at his head. Sanders ducked, his own long legs lashing out as Spike came at him, forcing him to leap out of the way of the low swipe. Spike slammed into a table, crashing to the ground amidst the shattered splinters of the once fine oak. Faye screamed as Sanders leapt for his knives and sent a pair whizzing in Spike's direction, the first thudding harmlessly into the wall, and the other biting deepl into Spike's side. He hissed in pain, firing off two shots, one missing Sanders by inches, slicing through the bond holding Faye's wrist, the other catching Sanders above the right knee and sending him crashing to the floor cursing fluently, his cool demeanor finally broken.

"Fools!" Sanders hissed, straightening with some difficulty as the leg of his white trousers turned red. "Do you think you can stop me! You are nothing!" He leaned down and kissed Faye harshly on the lips. "Until we meet again," he snarled, darting through the open door with his black case tucked beneath one arm.

Spike struggled to his feet, swaying slightly from loss of blood as he held one arm tightly over the bleeding wound in his side. Stumbling once, he managed to make it half way to the bed on which Faye lay and collapsed onto the floor, his breath coming shallowly.

"Spike! Spike are you all right!" Faye was nearly hysterical as she struggled with her remaining bonds. She leapt from the bed, falling upon his bleeding form. "Spike!"

"Get off… woman…" Spike grunted as she threatened to smother him. He looked blearily at his bloodstained shirt and flashed a weak lopsided grin. "Do I look all right?"

"Do you enjoy this!" she pealed away his blood soaked shirt and gasped. Spike hissed as she wrapped a piece of fabric torn from the hem of her dress around his middle, tying it off sharply.

Panic surged through her body as Spike's eyes fluttered shut. She leaned over him, clutching his face in her hands and leaving bloody streaks across his pale sweat slicked skin. "Spike! Spike don't you do this to me!"

His eyes opened slowly to regard her with a look of resignation. "Don't worry," he whispered and coughed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. "I've been dead…for a long time…" he touched her cheek feebly. "My body just never…caught on to it…" His hand slipped from her cheek and fell to his chest, his eyes blinking slowly.

"SPIKE!" Faye grabbed his shoulders, shaking him roughly. "Spike open your eyes! You have to listen to me! You can't die, not again!"

His head lolled to the side. Faye frantically checked his pulse as tears poured from her eyes. It was there, painfully slow and dangerously weak.

Faye threw his arm over her shoulders, grunting as she struggled to lift his weight. Her mind spun as the shock of what was happening numbed her. She half carried, half dragged Spike through the door and looked down the dark hallway. Their plan had gone so smoothly until Sanders had turned it upside down on them, and now Spike was hurt, almost dead, and they were lost somewhere in the bowls of Tanaka's mansion.

She peered into the shadows. A dark trail of something wet and slippery disappeared into the darkness. Blood. With a grunt of effort, Faye dragged Spike's body after the trail of blood, pausing every now and then to catch her breath as his body weighed her down, thanking the powers that be that Spike was so lean.

The dark trail went on and on, twisting through the dark. It began to lessen gradually as Sadners' body must have begun to clot the blood flow. Faye cursed, her aching muscles screaming for rest as she dragged her unconscious burden along with her. The trail of blood ended.

Faye searched the floor for some sign, some drop, a bloody footprint a boot scuff, anything, but the stone tiles were completely bare. She slumped back against the wall, her arms no longer able to hold Spike's weight as she slid to the floor. She buried her face in her hands, Spike's blood smearing her features as tears of frustration and anger slid onto his bloodstained shirt.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, a chocking sob escaping her lips as she held his limp form in her arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…please, please don't leave me again…" She pushed his sweat-slicked hair out of his face, willing his deep russet eyes to open. "I need you," she whispered. "Please…"

The corner of Spike's mouth twitched minutely. "Don't…you……for..get….it…" he whispered so weakly she almost missed it, his pale lips barely moving.

Faye threw her arms around his broad shoulders and sobbed into his neck, pulling back sharply when he whimpered in pain. Her elbow cracked into the wall and she winced in pain.

"Don't you ever—" The wall swung outwards suddenly sending them falling back onto the floor where there had been solid wall only moments before.

Faye found herself staring up at a massive, brightly lit, unimaginably high domed ceiling. A huge white phoenix spread its wings across the arched ceiling defiantly, a red dragon hanging limply in its sharply clawed talons and a white tiger lying on its side in the snow at the mighty bird's feet, blood dripping onto the pristine whiteness that it lay upon.

Somebody screamed.

Hundreds of shocked faces turned and stared down at them as Faye began to sit up slowly, dried blood splattered all over her face and covering her arms, Spike a mess of blood and torn clothes. Shouts erupted from the far end of the enormous ballroom and Faye saw a flash of white shoving through the dense crowd. She didn't hesitate.

In an instant she was up and running, her high-heeled shoes forgotten long ago in the candle lit room, Spike's bloody Jericho in her hands. Screams erupted all around her as she shoved heedlessly through the crowd, her eyes fixed on Sanders' back as she ducked past shocked people. He broke free of the assemblage and sprinted for the door, his black case clutched in one hand.

Faye skidded to a halt and took aim. The ballroom exploded with shrieks and screams and terrified yells as gunshots ripped through the shocked silence, panicked guests began to run in an attempt to save their own lives. Someone knocked her to the floor as they shoved past in an attempt to reach the door. It was a stampede.

Faye struggled to her feet, pushing against the erratic stream of screaming people. She had to get back to Spike. She couldn't leave him. She wouldn't leave him!

* * *

Jet grumbled to himself as he sat in the dark warehouse, glaring at the little screen before him. It had been over an hour since Spike had disappeared and there had been no sign of him of any kind since as Jet had labored over the tracking device trying to locate Faye's signal. Spike's signal had disappeared shortly after he had gone leaving Jet completely at a loss.

He scratched his head. Something was off about the whole situation. He could have understood if Sanders had somehow managed to block Faye's signal, but for Spike's to disappear as well…that was a whole different problem.

The little light on his com began to flash, beeping urgently. Jet frowned as he turned it on, not recognizing the signal as either Spike's or Faye's.

"Jet? Jet!" An older man with a thinning hairline of dark gray hairs stared urgently back up at him through the tiny screen. "Jet! You have to get—there's been—"

"Whoa, whoa slow down, Bob. What's going on?"

"Jet, you old dog, why don't you answer your damn com!" The man scowled furiously.

"Now I know you didn't call just to bitch at me for not returning your messages."

"There's something big going on at Tanaka's! We've got reports of gunfire and we don't know how many, if any fatalities have been sustained. Why the hell aren't you there!"

Jet glared at the screen. "Why the hell aren't _you _there, Bob! You've got the whole of ISSP at your disposal. You can't expect me to believe that a little gunfire is too much for you boys to handle these days!"

"We can't, Jet. Believe me, there's too much politics surrounding this one. It goes a lot deeper than you think. Sanders is there."

"Sanders!" Jet cursed violently. "I'll be there in ten minutes," he growled

The city flashed below him in a blur of blinking lights as Jet soared towards Tanaka's mansion. He cursed himself for staying behind, for not listening to Spike when he had gone after Faye. Tanaka's had been part of the original plan in the first place, but he had balked when Faye had been abducted, not wanting to go on a wild goose chase and waste valuable time looking for her in the wrong direction.

The enormous white building loomed out of the night, its many-pillared façade gleaming in the light cast by the moon and the stars and the spotlights hidden in the grounds. Jet frowned when he saw the Swordfish parked, tilted at an awkward angle, half on, half off of the front stairs. The Hammerhead settled gently beside its red cohort, coming to rest with an easy thump.

Jet leapt from the cockpit and made his way hurriedly into the vast open double doors leading into the house. The foyer was empty. He cast a suspicious glance around as he drew his gun. Silently, he made his way through the empty halls, all of his senses at full alert.

"Where the hell is everyone?" he muttered to himself.

He rounded a corner and found himself suddenly on the threshold of a wide, open, sweeping ballroom, packed to the breaking with people, all staring silently at something in the corner, some with glasses poised at their lips, others frozen mid gesture, seemingly having forgotten their limbs. Jet squinted trying to see what it was everyone was looking at, but whatever it was, was low to the ground and obscured by the wall of living flesh.

There was a flash of movement in the corner of his eye, and Jet turned just in time to see Sanders shove a richly dressed elderly woman out of his way as he struggled through the stunned throng. Jet cursed as he took aim at Sanders, but was unable to get a clean shot through the guests, unwilling to risk innocent life, no matter how much they may have deserved it under other circumstances.

Sanders broke free of the crowd and Jet cocked his gun. The entire room erupted in screams and Jet flinched, his first shot ricocheting off the black case clutched in his target's arms. He cursed and fired off two more rounds before a stampede of panicked guests bore down on him, sweeping him back and away in a tide of terror and fear.


	9. Twist of Fate

**Midnight Blues**

**9. Twist of Fate**

Screams echoed hollowly through the vast room, detached as if part of another world. Blurred figures swept past, heedless of the sprawled body on the floor. Voices, hundreds of voices cried out as shots ricocheted in every direction, the marble tiled floor beside him exploded in a shower of jagged chips. Powdery white dust floated over him like snow as it settled onto his black clothes.

He idly wondered what all the fuss was about as he watched the tiny white lights of the chandelier sway above him. So lovely, swaying, almost like…butterflies… Something was nagging at him from the corner of his mind. There was something important he had to do, something very important…someone…but the lights were so pretty, they looked like stars. Which one of them belonged to him? He reached out to touch them, but his arm would not move.

His brows bunched slightly. It didn't matter. His body felt cold and he closed his eyes, willing the panicked voices to be silent as he slipped into the darkness.

A twinge of pain brought him back and he blinked slowly, his hazy vision picking up a figure looming over him. They were saying something, but he could not understand. The pain in his side flared again, but it seemed far away, as if it was happening to someone else. He closed his eyes.

Rough hands grabbed his shoulders and shook him, the voice screaming at him. _Go away…_ he murmured in his mind as he sank deeper into the cool darkness. _Just let me go…_ Hands were touching his face, his chest, his side, someone was crying. Something warm fell onto his face sending a tingle of sensation through his body, reawakening numb nerves as it trickled down his cheek.

His eyes opened slowly, but all he could see were vague gray shapes blurring and shifting, melting into one another like clouds in the ether. The sound of broken sobbing filtered through to him from miles away. He wanted to comfort whoever it was, wanted to make sure they were all right, but the pull of the emptiness he was floating in was too great.

_Spike…please…_

Something within him stirred. Spike…yes, that had been his name.

_Faye…we have to go… _The second voice resonated deeply within the dark confines of his mind as he floated.

Something nagged at him again, tugging urgently at his mind. He tried to brush it away but it would not leave, so he simply stopped resisting and let it come his way. An image of a woman floated before him. She was young and pretty with frosty blue eyes and a sad smile that made his heart ache, her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders like gold. He frowned. He new this woman, who was she…?

_Julia…_

He reached out to her as she smiled at him, her blue eyes drawing him toward her. His bloody hand touched her face and her image rippled like water, her features shifting, rearranging themselves. Her eyes were now a verdant green, her shoulder length hair a silky violet. She was crying.

He knelt beside her, touching her shoulder. A small frown graced his lips. He knew this woman, too, but from where? The nagging feeling flared and his eyes widened.

_Faye._

Suddenly the blackness around him did not feel comfortable or peaceful; it felt ominous, suffocating as if it were trying to smother him in its dark shroud. He struggled against it, feeling as if he were drowning. Desperately and with agonizing slowness he fought his way up through the frozen void. Faye. He had to get to Faye. She was important, somehow. He had to tell her something…but what?

Ever so slowly, feeling began to return to his numb body. His lungs burned with need for oxygen as he fought to surface from the depths of emptiness. Jagged pain arched through his body like a bolt of molten lighting as his frayed nerve endings suddenly burst to life and he gasped as the agony of it swept over him, the pain filling the void with soul tearing ferocity, blinding him.

Cool hands touched his face and his ears vaguely registered someone's frantic cries for help. His head spun nauseatingly as the pain in his side flared, knifing through him with a murderous intent.

"_Jet do something!"_

"_I'm…ing! Get out of…way!"_

Voices flowed in an out of his awareness as the searing pain tore his breath from his lungs, the edges of his blurred vision turning white. He squeezed his eyes shut as tears poured unnoticed down his cheeks. Liquid fire burned through his veins, his skin felt as if it were being burned to a crisp, crackling in the inferno as his muscles were seared from bones that by now must have been blackened and charred.

"_You… to hurry!"_

Someone tore his shirt and was holding something to his side with agonizing pressure. He struggled against the hands holding him down.

"_He's lost…blood….have to get him…hospital…"_

Just when he had thought the pain had reached its pinnacle, it increased and he curled in on himself, clutching his chest as he rolled onto his side, a whimper of pain escaping through his clenched teeth. Had he not already been flat on his back on the floor he would have been brought to his knees long ago by the pain that had forthwith dispensed with his sanity.

"…_thing else…wrong…him!"_

His insides had been ripped apart, every bone had been shattered, skin flayed and charred to a cinder. He had become one with the pain, it had devoured his soul and he opened his arms, welcoming it to him, hoping dimly in what was left of his mind that it would take what was left of his life and end his suffering.

"_The blade… poisoned…"_

The darkness swallowed him and he slumped down onto the floor.

* * *

Faye's cheek slipped from her hand, her head thunking against the metal frame of the bed; she hissed in pain. Her eyes squeezed shut and her brows furrowed as she pressing her palm to her forehead, cursing as a few stray tears rolled down her cheeks. Served her right for falling asleep at a time like this.

A slow, constant beeping was the only sound in the tiny stark room besides the buzzing of the fluorescent bulbs overhead. The entire room was a sterile white: white walls, white ceiling, white floor, tiny white plastic chair, white bed, white sheets, white, white, white. Her eyes were beginning to hurt from looking at all that white. She turned to look at the white door. Jet had long since returned to the Bebop, grumbling that it wouldn't matter where they were, whatever happened would happen.

She glanced at the body lying on the hard hospital bed, an IV dripping fresh blood attached to his arm. His eyes were closed; the peaceful expression on his face at odds with the ugly bruises and scratch marks marring his skin. She glanced at the clock.

It had been nearly twenty-four hours since she and Jet had rushed into the hospital, Spike's limp body slung over Jet's shoulder. At first the doctors had refused treatment, claiming that this man is obviously beyond all help, but when both Faye and Jet had drawn their guns, the frightened receptionist had shakily remembered that there was indeed a room open, ninth floor, down the hall on the right, 907.

Faye laid her head down on the cool metal railing of the bed as the quietly buzzing machines continued to monitor Spike's vital signs.

They had failed to catch Sanders. No one knew where he was, no one had seen him leave, no one had seen him go down, nor had anyone found a body. All they had found was a single bloody footprint and that could have belonged to any number of the guests that had been in attendance at Tanaka's that night. Faye cursed. Sanders had slipped through their grasp and now he was home free, able to kill again, and Spike was lying in a hospital bed on the cusp between life and death as the poison that had laced Sanders dagger ravaged his system.

Spike's face was almost as pale as the pillow his head was resting on. He had lost so much blood that the doctors had been surprised his heart had had anything left to pump out when they had brought him into the hospital, his side still bleeding sluggishly. He had been attached to an IV since he had arrived receiving blood transfusions to replace what he had lost.

They had given him something they said would counteract the neurotoxin in his system and told her that all they could do now was wait, but more than likely, if the poison didn't kill him, his other injuries would.

The cuts and bruises on his face and neck from when he had been hit by flying chips of marble that had been thrown into the air by a stray bullet were the least of their worries. The wound in his shoulder was, in itself, not life threatening, but the massive blood loss that he had incurred through it and his side were very dangerous.

But those wounds together were not what had troubled the doctors the most. It was the wound in his side that was the most worrisome. The blade had damaged vital organs as it had slammed into him. Now he was in danger not only of dying from blood loss, damaged organs and the poison, but was at high risk of contracting a fatal infection.

Faye's eyelids drooped and she stifled a yawn, her back cramping from having sat in the hard plastic chair for so many hours. She stretched with a groan and her stomach rumbled urgently reminding her how long it had been since she had last eaten. With a sigh she settled numbly back into her chair, her gaze unfocused as it rested on Spike's abused face.

The door opened quietly behind her, but she took no notice. Someone stood beside her and put a hand on her shoulder as she stared blankly at the lanky figure in the bed.

"Faye, you can't stay here forever," Jet's deep voice rumbled through the tiny room.

Faye sat mutely in her cold plastic chair.

Jet sighed. "You have to sleep sometime," he said softly, taking in her tired red-rimmed eyes, pale, drawn face and rumpled clothes. She hadn't even changed out of that black dress.

"Go back to the ship," he urged her. "I'll stay with him."

Faye looked up at him and the blankness in her eyes frightened him. She blinked slowly. "I can't leave him," she whispered. "This is my fault."

Jet pulled her slim body to him in a tight hug. "Don't give yourself so much credit. There was nothing you could have done." He felt something warm soak his shirt as Faye's shoulders began to shake.

"I should have done something," she sobbed brokenly. "I should have stopped him, I should have been able to protect myself—"

"Faye, go home. Go back to the ship." He took her shoulders firmly in his hands. "Get some sleep and something to eat." He wrinkled his nose slightly. "And you need a shower." A tiny humorless laugh bubbled from Faye's chest as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"But—"

"Go on, get out of here. Do you think Spike would appreciate waking up to a bloody mess of tangled hair and torn clothes? He wouldn't be awake for very long."

Faye smiled as best she could and gave Jet a quick hug. "Go," he pushed her gently towards the door.

He watched as she slipped out of the tiny room and shut the door. His gaze lingered on the stark door for a moment before turning to his injured partner.

"I hope you can see what's right in front of you," he muttered as the beeping of the heart monitor filled the room again.

* * *

It had been a long night for Faye Valentine.

She stood at the base of the large hospital, gazing up at the hundreds of windows, some lit, some dark. A heavy emptiness had settled in the pit of her stomach as she had walked out of the large building. Spike had been a man living on borrowed time and now it seemed his debts would be collected.

Tears pricked her eyes as she stumbled through the dark city streets trying to remember where she had left her Redtail. With a resigned sigh, she pushed into a small corner café, one of very few whose lights were still on.

A man wiping down the counter looked up at her. "I'm sorry ma'am, but we're—" He stopped mid sentence as he took in her haggard appearance. "Lady, are you alright?"

"No." She paused as she caught sight of herself reflected in the window. "Do you have somewhere I can wash up?"

The man stared at her for a moment in shock. "Uh…yeah…down the hall on the left." He pointed back behind him. "Are you sure—"

"Yeah, thanks." Faye stumbled into the small bathroom, dropping her things onto the floor carelessly as she slumped against the sink. Her frame shook slightly, tears falling into the white porcelain basin as she wiped the blood and grime from her skin as best she could.

She steeled herself. She had to pull herself together. Sanders was still out there, and sniveling in a bathroom somewhere was not going to do anything about it. Straightening, she quickly pulled on the pair of worn jeans and a black t-shirt Jet had brought her.

Sanders could run and hide all he wanted, but she was going after him and she was going to kill him.

* * *

Something bobbed in the darkness. It was fuzzy, glowing faintly. What was it? Stop. Something familiar. Come back. Where had it gone?

It teased, popping in and out of existence like a taunting firefly. There. Don't leave. It evaporated only to appear somewhere else, bouncing, pushing. The fuzziness became a gentle pressure.

Where do you come from? The pressure eased playfully, coming back after a few moments only to recede once more. Do you want something?

The pressure increased fractionally. What are you? It increased, steadily becoming sharper, slowly losing its playful edge and beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. Hey, stop that.

But the sensation wouldn't go away. It continued to swell until only it remained, filling the void. Pain. Ebbing and flowing like an erratic tide, it folded in upon itself, multiplying and then dissipating. It was all there was, there was nothing outside the pain, nothing to hold it back, only it and him.

Spike gasped for breath like a man just saved from drowning. All he saw was white. Where the hell was he? He tried to lift his head as the events of the previous night filtered slowly back to him and hissed as his neck muscles screamed in protest at the movement.

There was a rhythmic beeping in the background accompanied by a steady buzzing. He knew those sounds. His mouth felt like someone had stuffed an entire bag of cotton balls inside it.

His entire body was overcome with a dull ache as he lay on his back, but it was nothing compared to what he had suffered.

Someone let out a loud snore from somewhere beside him and grunted.

Spike tried to speak, but managed only a feeble groan as his parched throat refused to cooperate.

"Spike?"

He grunted.

"Shut up, you idiot. Do you have any idea…no I don't suppose you would," the deep voice rumbled darkly.

Jet scooted his chair over to the side of the bed and peered at his younger partner's face. "Doctors said…" He shook his head. "You've been out for two weeks." Two weeks? "They didn't think you'd wake up."

Jet regarded the prone figure on the bed. Spike had more lives than a cat, but at some point they were going to run out.

He scowled. "You really ought to be more careful," he said gruffly.

A hoarse cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh burst from Spike's chest. Jet smiled tightly despite himself. Yeah, right.

* * *

Faye collapsed onto the yellow plastic couch, dropping her things on the floor carelessly. Her whole body ached, her heart aching with it as she thought of what Spike had gone through, for her. She was able to flop onto that hard yellow couch, unscathed, at Spike's expense. Her eyes prickled with tears as she thought of him lying in that cold hospital bed in that tiny little room, alone.

She stood quickly, about to jump back into her ship. The room spun sickeningly and she clutched the back of the couch for support as the walls slowed their frantic movement. She thought she might be sick and sank slowly back onto the couch, her eyes squeezed shut.

"So you're back."

Faye nodded, barely acknowledging Jet's comment as she fought to still her lurching stomach.

"Here drink this," Jet held a steaming mug out to her, but she shook her head. "You'll feel better, Faye." The silent question of where she had been for the past few weeks hung unasked and unanswered in the air as Jet regarded her silently.

With a shaky hand, she took the mug from him and sipped its contents warily. Slowly her stomach settled, the tense muscles in her neck, shoulders and back uncoiled a little, her hands stopped shaking. She looked up at Jet. "What is this?"

"Ginger tea," he said gruffly. "Drink all of it."

She nodded mutely as he walked out of the small room, leaving her once more in silence.

Spike had managed once again to beat the odds and claw his way back to life. She shook her head. For a man with such a wish for death, he simply refused to die.

Fragrant steam rose from the mug in her hands, clouding her vision slightly. The reality of the past few weeks had yet to sink in, to her, it seemed as if she was walking through a dream.

Looking for Sanders had sent her on a dozen wild goose chases; she couldn't remember the number of dead ends she had followed. The bastard had simply ceased to exist.

She had gone to visit Spike as often as she could, though he was only conscious on one or two of those occasions. Each time she had sat in silence watching as his chest rose and fell slowly, the heart monitor beeping in the background.

She bit her lip. Faye Valentine was getting nervous. She recognized the feeling in the pit of her stomach and couldn't decide whether it was a curse or a blessing. She was beginning to feel something for her fluffy haired companion and that frightened her nearly as much as the prospect of his dying and leaving them again did.


	10. Fever Dreams

_Hey guys, sorry for the super long wait. My first quarter in college left me with little time to sleep, let alone think up terrible ways for Sanders to pop back up here and there. But I'm on break now, so I should have time to give you guys a few more chapters. This story is almost over. I can see the end from where I'm sitting, honestly. But don't worry, I feel a sequel coming. It might be a while, but it's on its way. Much love and I hope you all had a lovely holiday. Happy New Year!_

**Midnight Blues**

**10. Fever Dreams**

Someone was humming. The low notes hung softly, the dreamy tune stirring old memories. Fuzzy voices replaced the haunting melody and then they too faded into nothingness once more. There was a moving, shifting sensation and then nothing.

"Is he improving, Doctor?"

A slender graying man in a white lab coat regarded the man in the bed before him, absently rubbing his lower lip as he listened to the quite beep of the heart monitor. He turned to the pale eyes young woman beside him in her little white uniform and pillbox hat. "Improving?" He shook his head. "If you consider surviving a stabbing and massive blood loss only to be ravaged by some deadly toxin an improvement, then yes, but otherwise…"

The nurse turned her big blue eyes up to him. "Isn't there anything you can do, Doctor?" She looked back to gaze sadly at their seemingly doomed patient.

"We've done everything we can."

"Will he be all right?" He watched as she brushed a few stray hairs from the unconscious mans face, as he had watched her do many times before.

He shook his head. The woman might be young, supple and lovely, but he couldn't imagine how she had gotten through med school, if not by utilizing her good looks to the absolute fullest. "I don't know, Sandy. I just don't know.

She sighed, a sad, longing expression on her face, her full lips parted in a slight pout as if she were about to cry. Or preparing for a kiss, he thought dryly. He sincerely hoped that if this young man ever woke up, that Sandy would not be there to see it.

The heart monitor gave a sharp beep. Dr. Avery Wyatt glanced up at it and frowned. A single sharp spike rose above the others on the small dark screen. That was odd. He leaned over the prone man, closely inspecting his features for any sign of consciousness or pain. The monitor spiked again, this time the corner of the young mans mouth twitched so minutely that Dr. Wyatt would have missed it, had he not been looking for it.

The huge house was dark as he slunk through the shadowed parlor. Moonlight cast eerie shadows through the large bay windows, luminous white curtains flowing on the cool night breeze.

The dining room was as empty and dark as the rest of the house. A case of glittering china stood silently against the far wall, rows of ornate silverware reflecting the light of the moon. He crept through the kitchen, careful to avoid the rows of hanging pots and pans that were hidden in the shadows.

He didn't know where he was going only that he had to get there, soon. Something pulled him onward, silently directing him which way to go, when to stop, when to turn, where to enter. He followed the silent voice without question. There was something important here.

A sweeping staircase led to the second floor where a row of marble statues stood guard in the pale moonlight. He eyed them warily. The statues seemed alive, their eyes watching him as the flowing shadows of the curtains rippled over their faces, an oddly forced serenity giving him pause as he watched them.

He shook himself; they were only statues.

The thick carpet covering the floor of the long hall muffled his footsteps. Hundreds of doors lined the walls, each closed, every single one dark and dead. Something urged him on.

He stopped suddenly in front of one of the doors. The impulse to open it nearly overwhelmed him, but he did not touch the door handle. He looked back down the hall. There was nothing to distinguish this door from any other. It was the same dark color, had the same gilded doorframe, the same ornate brass handle. He frowned. What was so special…?

A light flared on inside sending a warm glow flooding underneath the door. He took a step back. The door opened.

The room was richly furnished. Heavy wine red drapes hung in the window at odds with the pale moonlit landscape outside. Grandiose chairs made of polished dark wood and upholstered in matching rich dark red velvet detailed with gold were arrayed about the room, a large stone hearth was built into one of grenadine colored walls, a large fire crackling merrily within it.

He frowned. There was a large four poster bed in the corner with a wide sweeping frame adorned with rich crimson covers and matching pillows embroidered with fine gold thread. A figure was lying on the bed, but in the dim light of the fire he could not make out who it was.

Something beckoned to him, and he stepped inside. The door shut softly behind him. The figure stirred.

"Who…whos there?" Sleepy blue eyes searched the darkness futilely. "Spike? Is that you?"

He stood silently, regarding the woman in bed before him.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered, sitting up and throwing cautious glances at the walls as if they might be watching. "What if he finds you?" Someone was always watching.

Suddenly her eyes snapped to the closed door. "Spike you have to go."

He stood mutely. He wouldn't have spoken even if hed been able. There had been a time when he would have given anything to join her in that big soft bed, to feel her soft skin against his as he had many times, but tonight something was different.

"Please," she glanced from him to the door and back, drawing her black satin nightgown around her tightly.

"Why?" His tongue moved of its own volition, the bitter tone in his voice startling him as much as it did her.

Her elegant brows twitched together. "You know why. He'll kill you." She stood gracefully and peered at him through the darkness, the moonlight on her pale hair made her glow. "He'll kill both of us."

He watched her as she fiddled with a strand of loose hair. "Did you love me?"

Her eyes fell to the floor and she hugged herself. "Spike…"

"Did you?" he asked harshly. She flinched. "Julia..." he said her name softly, the same moonlight that streamed through the open windows and set her hair with silver fire now cast deep shadows across his face.

Julia looked up at him, an unexpected sneer hanging loosely on her red lips, lips he had kissed, lips he had cherished. "Please," she snorted. "Me, love you?" She turned and leaned against the window sill.

His eyes widened. He felt empty, as if something inside him had withered away. "It never meant anything."

She turned and regarded him disdainfully. "Not a thing. You were an interesting diversion, good sex, a nice car, a cheap thrill, but it never meant anything." Her beautiful face twisted hatefully. "_You_ never meant anything.

He stood silently, the past playing before his open eyes in sepia tones as he slipped one hand in his pocket.

"Stop wasting my time!" she shouted suddenly. "I cant stand to look at you!"

Slowly he turned and reached for the door... They were going to run away, they were going to live their dream, to escape their nightmare, together. They were the same soul torn in two. She couldn't have meant... but it must have been true. He never had been good enough for Julia, and now she was simply clarifying.

"Stop!"

He froze mid stride, his hand reaching out for the door.

"Dont you have something heroic to say, something tragic? Don't you want to get down on our knees and proclaim your undying love for me and beg for my forgiveness?"

He turned and stared at her with haunted eyes as she walked slowly toward him like a cat stalking its prey. She grasped his tie in one hand and pulled him slowly downwards. "On your knees," she whispered.

His knees gave out and he dropped to the floor, his mind numb as he looked up at her.

"Now tell me you love me."

His breathing was ragged now.

"Say it!" she screamed, lashing out and slapping him viciously across the face. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

He stared up at her, disbelieving, as his ears rang from the force of her blow. "I..." The blood tasted coppery on his tongue. The curtains billowed behind her as she stood over him and he caught a faint hint of jasmine on the air. His eyes hardened. "No."

His love, his reason for living had abandoned him, tossing him aside like so much loose change, but he found that he did not really care.

Her blue eyes bulged madly. "What!" She raised her fist angrily. "You don't deserve to breathe the air I've passed through!" She lunged at him, her small fist connecting solidly with his chin before he could grab her arm and pin her beneath him, his gun pressed firmly to her temple.

She began to laugh. The sound skittered down his spine, sending chills through his body as she shrieked with laughter. "Do you...you think that...puny...little weapon can...stop me? Her body shook with mirth beneath him.

He pushed away from her and backed towards the door, her maniac laughter reverberated through the small room as she convulsed on the floor. His eyes widened.

"Doctor! His cerebral activity just shot off the chart!"

Avery gave his young assistant an appraising look before returning his attention to the man lying before him. Is that what they taught in med-school these days? Stating the obvious? He frowned. The mans pulse had jumped suddenly and his neurological activity, which had been all but nothing one moment, had exploded without warning.

"Go find Doctor Webber!"

Julias form had hunched over, her long blonde hair obscuring a face that was no longer the angelic one he remembered. Piercing blue eyes gazed at him hungrily from under pale brows and then anything that might have once resembled a human was gone, replaced with shining white scales, golden claws and razor sharp teeth.

For the first time in his life, Spike Spiegel turned and ran.

The heart monitor erupted, the heart beats coming harder and faster than Avery had thought possible. He whirled to face a horrified Sandy who was clutching her manicured hands to her chest and staring transfixed at the man lying before her. "For chrissake, Sandy, snap out of it! Go get Dr. Webber! GO!"

With a squeak, the terrified woman all but sprinted out of the tiny room, cries for Dr. Webber already leaping from her lips.

He was running. Wet leaves and low hanging branches slapped at his face as he swept through the brush, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He could hear nothing but his own harsh breathing and the beating of his heart, could see nothing but the dripping dark foliage obscuring his path. Somewhere behind him, something screamed into the night.

He stumbled on a hidden tree root, crashing to the ground with a grunted curse. Leaping to his feet, he blundered on through the dark underbrush, uncaring of the small injuries he sustained as he fled from the demon that was chasing him.

Twice more he fell and twice more he struggled to his feet and ran on.

A clearing opened up before him suddenly, the stars and the moon cast pale light on everything, stark shadows reaching out from under the gnarled trees as if trying to strangle the tiny break in the dense forest with phantom fingers.

He was hit bodily from behind and tumbled to the ground in the middle of the clearing, muscles relaxing as he prepared to roll to his feet and run. Something heavy slammed onto his chest as he rolled, pinning him to the ground. Hot, rank breath hit his face, the coppery scent of blood making him gag.

"Next time, you'll do as you're told," the sibilant voice hissed above him.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Wyatt, what the hell is going on!"

"I was here on a routine check and all the monitors just, well you can see for yourself."

Dr. John Webber pushed past his long time colleague and peered closely at the calm face of their charge. He noted the yellowed bruising, the long scabbed scratches, the bandages wrapped around the mans chest. The heart monitor continued to beep frantically and the mans neurological activity continued to crackle and spark dramatically.

He turned to his colleague. "Get me a dose of adrenaline."

"Adrenaline? John, his heart could--"

"He's on the verge of cardiac arrest. He'll die now, or he'll die later. Just get the damn adrenaline!"

Avery Wyatt nodded dumbly and fled from the small hospital room.

"Next time, you'll behave, pet."

He struggled against the weight on his chest that was crushing the breath from his lungs. "You're...dead..." he grated. "You're not...real..."

Someone was crying.

Spike tried to open his eyes, but his lids were too heavy. His whole body seemed to be made of leaden fog. It was as if he was floating in nearly frozen jelly, limbs refusing to move both because he did not have the strength and because he could not feel.

The presence hiccupped, heart wrenching little sobs escaping into the quiet.

Julia's face swam before him as the sounds of sorrow faded away.

"Spike...I came back...but you belonged to someone else."

Blue eyes because green.

"Where are you going? Why are you going?"

He turned away, too many memories, too much pain, too long...

Why do you have to go?

Are you telling me youre just going to throw your life away…

Dr. Webber straightened from the figure in the bed. Yellow elastic gloves snapped as he pulled them off his hands. The vital signs stabilized and the tension began to melt from the tiny room. John Webber gave his colleague a stern look.

AYou couldn't have handled that yourself?

Avery Wyatt pressed his lips together. He and John had been roommates in med school, and had become fast friends. It wasn't until they had both done their residencies that Johns connections had sent him up through the hospital ranks much faster than Avery. Avery had never complained, it was a fact of life and Webber was a superb doctor, but it still rankled him that John seemed to lord it over him, as if because he didn't know the right people, he was somehow less of a man.

"Yes, I could have handled it, John, but I would have done so in a way that did not put the patients life at such unnecessary risk."

John Webber smirked and clapped him on the shoulder as he walked past him. "Sometimes you gotta take risks, Avery."

Avery watched as his long time friend walked out of the tiny room chuckling.

* * *

Faye sat tensely on an uncomfortable plastic chair in the hall outside Spike's room. The doctors had said that there was nothing more that could be done for him and that the best thing was for him to be taken somewhere where he could have quiet and rest.

She could hear Jet inside arguing the one of the doctors. "Come on, Jet, let's just go," she muttered to herself. She hated hospitals and this one wasn't any different. They tried to cover the smell of death and disease with cleaners and antiseptic, but they never could quite do it. She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine relax tense muscles and soothe frayed nerves.

Finally the door opened and a very harassed looking man in a white coat stormed out of the room muttering to himself. "Just get out!" he shouted as a very smug looking Jet followed him out into the hall. "Non smoking!" he spluttered at Faye, pointing to a sign above her head with a shaking finger, his face red. Faye blinked, watching as he marched angrily down the hall, nearly knocking down a nurse in his haste.

She quirked a brow. "What the hell did you say to him?"

"Oh this and that," Jet replied airily. Faye giggled. She had never thought Jet could do anything airily. "Come on, let's go home."

Faye disposed of her half smoked cigarette as she followed Jet back into the tiny room. Spike was lying on the bed as he had been every other time she had come to see him, but this time there was a little more color in his face and he didn't look quite so gaunt.

"Am I ever getting out of this god forsaken shit hole?"

Jet scowled. "This god forsaken shit hole saved your life, Spike."

Spike grunted, levering himself slowly into a sitting position. "I fucking hate hospitals." As he pulled the flimsy hospital shirt over his head, Faye saw the bandages wrapped around his middle, a large patch of gauze obscuring the smooth skin of his shoulder.

Jet pushed a wheelchair to the edge of the bed. "You ready?"

Spike eyed the chair with distaste. "You've got to be kidding me."

Jet pinched the bridge of his nose. "Spike, it's policy."

"Fuck policy," Spike grunted bluntly. "I have two fully functional legs," he went on as he swung his legs down onto the floor. "And I intend to use them." He stood, flashing Jet a self satisfied look.

Faye lunged forward as he swayed dangerously, steadying him as he leaned heavily on her shoulder, his breathing labored. "Spike, you're still—"

He pushed her away and managed to lower himself into the plastic chair by the bed, flimsy shorts clinging to his legs. A thin sheen of sweat had broken out over his naked chest and shoulders, his face pale and drawn as he caught his breath. Jet handed him a pair of dark pants and Faye looked away, not wanting to watch as he struggled into them in his weakened state. Spike wasn't supposed to be capable of weakness; he was the one that always bounced back.

"Spike," Jet began slowly, but Spike cut him off with a cold glare.

"I do not need _that,_" he spat.

"But—"

"No."

Jet rolled his eyes skyward as Spike managed to get himself on his feet again. Neither she nor Jet said a word as they positioned themselves on either side of their injured comrade and helped him out of the room. A scandalized hospital aid accosted them in the hall, demanding to know where the patient was going and why he was not in a wheel chair and where are his shoes, but when Jet shouted a few choice remarks in his face, the ferrety little man slunk back where he had come from with a hateful glance over his shoulder.

The journey through the hospital was a silent one, Faye only too conscious of Spike's arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders as he used her as a makeshift crutch.

They took a cab to the docks where the Bebop was moored so as to spare each other the unpleasantries of a cramped flight in either one of their monopods. Spike looked as near to tears as Faye had ever seen him when he slumped down on the yellow couch in the common room.

He ran a hand lovingly over its hard plastic surface. "I've missed you, old friend," he said softly as he flopped back, stretching his full length out with a slight wince as his wounds pulled.

Faye chuckled at the sight. "I hope you haven't gotten all sentimental on me."

"Only over things I give a shit about," he retorted, not missing a beat. "Don't worry, you're in no danger of being one of those."

Jet muttered darkly to himself as he left the two in favor of kitchen. "Some things never change."

"So, what happened to Sanders?" Spike asked as Faye flopped down onto the chair across the table from him. "I suppose it's too much to hope you guys got the 300 mil?"

Faye chuckled having missed their little banter and idly wondered how long this truce would last. Her brow furrowed. "No one told you?"

"Actually they did. I was wondering if they'd told _you_," he replied sarcastically.

Faye rolled her eyes. "No, we didn't catch him." Spike grunted. "He just up and vanished."

"Vanished?"

"Yep," Faye nodded as Spike began to prod at his bandages. "Don't mess with those, lunkhead. They're there for a reason."

Spike made a face at her. "We already have a ship mom, Faye. I don't think Jet will appreciate your challenging his claim to the title. And anyway, they itch."

"That's a _good _sign, stupid," Faye grumbled as she moved to sit on the table opposite him. "C'mon, let me see." She pushed his protesting hands away and peeled away the bandages covering the wound in his shoulder.

Spike hissed in pain. "Hey, _watch _it!"

"Baby," Faye retorted, still inspecting the wound in his shoulder. "These need changing," she muttered as she gently prodded the flesh around the angry looking wound, ignoring Spike's complaints. "I'm going to get the med kit. Don't move."

"Since when did you become the medical expert?" he muttered when she returned with the large black box.

"Since you left," she replied simply, digging through the box until she found clean gauze, bandages and antiseptic. "This is going to sting," she warned him as she poured the disinfectant on a clean rag.

"Ow _fuck!"_

Jet's head jerked up from the paper he was reading in the kitchen.

"_What the hell are you doing to me!"_

"_I'm _helping _you, idiot!" _

Jet shook his head. This was likely to get ugly.

Spike prodded his newly bandaged shoulder suspiciously when Faye had finished. He eyed her warily as she appraised the binding round his middle. "I don't think so, Faye. That one was poisoned, remember? You don't know what kind of chemical reaction it might have with that disinfectant."

Faye shot him a flat unimpressed look. "I never knew you were such a whiner, Spike."

"What can I say, I learned from the best."

"Fine," Faye said airily and stood, picking up the used medical supplies and disposing of them in the trash. "I'll just go and catch up on some sleep, then."

Spike sat up weakly. "You can't leave me here!"

"Watch me."

"But—"

""G'night!" Faye called sweetly over her shoulder as she disappeared down the hall, leaving Spike shirtless on the couch. _Let him change his own damn bandages, for once_, she thought sourly.

She dropped the medical kit on the floor by her bed and collapsed onto her bed in the dark. The day had been exhausting. She and Jet had arrived at the hospital in the early morning hoping to take Spike back to the Bebop with them, only to be told that one of the higher ups had an interest in his case and that he would have to stay in the hospital until that person was satisfied. Faye had thought Jet was going to break his chair over the doctor's head. She chuckled quietly to herself.

Plumping up her pillow, she burrowed down into her soft covers emitting a sound that could very well have been mistaken for one made by a very large, very contented cat.

But how could she sleep? Spike was out there on the couch, all alone. Spike was _back_. He was _alive_. The thought made her sit up, the covers still wrapped around her. He had been gone for so long and now that he was back she was just going to go to bed? She winced as a twinge of guilt slithered through her belly.

With a sigh, she slid out of bed and padded out into the long hall and made her way back to the common room. Jet must have turned down the lights for she could barely make out the long form draped across the yellow couch. He hadn't moved since she'd left him. She sat on the table beside him, listening to the sound of his deep even breathing.

She hugged herself and shivered as she remembered that horror filled night almost one year before. The screams, breaking glass, the smell of gunpowder, more screaming, endless screaming, the glitter of blue eyes and hard cold steel, blood splattered all over the white marble floor... Her hand floated to the tiny scar on her neck. It had never faded away. Sanders truly had marked her.

"What's it look like?" a soft masculine voice murmured from the shadows.

Faye started slightly, jerking her hand hurriedly from her neck. "I thought you were asleep." She could hear him sitting up.

Cool fingers suddenly brushed her neck and she flinched away. "Does it still hurt?" he asked, his dark eyes glittering in the darkness.

"Sometimes," she lied. It hurt every time she saw Sanders' face, every time she remembered that night, every time she thought of Spike. He edged closer to her in the dark.

"What's it look like?" he asked again, peering at her through the gloom.

Her own fingers traced the tiny and yet intricate sunburst on her neck, wincing as the scar, which had never really completely healed, even after all this time, began to sting. "It's the sun," she murmured. "He's marked me. I belong to him."

She didn't seem to notice as Spike reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist. "You do _not _belong to him, Faye," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Faye looked up at him with tired eyes. "Then who do I belong to, Spike? You?" She was tired of pretending.

Spike watched her through slitted eyes as he mulled over her words. Faye didn't belong to him. Part of him found the thought of Faye belonging to anyone laughable, but he was surprised to find that he liked the idea of her belonging to him. "No, Faye," he said finally. "You don't belong to me."

"You're right, Spike, I don't belong to you, I don't belong here, I don't belong anywhere." She sighed, pulling her hand from his grasp and shrugged. "You wouldn't know what to do with me anyway."

Spike sat thoughtfully on the couch for a long time after she'd left. He'd had a lot of time to think while he was in the hospital. It was either think or dream and his dreams had become increasingly disturbing. He leaned back on the couch and fished a lightly bent cigarette from a box on the floor and lit it with practiced ease. The bright glow of the match illuminated his face as he watched it burn down to nothing. It died with a puff of smoke.

He couldn't remember many of his dreams. They all seemed to blend into one feverish mix of pain and fear, but they all had two things in common. Julia was always there and so was Faye. Whether Julia was trying to make him follow her or kill him, Faye was always there, somewhere, watching with sad eyes. He'd found her kneeling by his own dead body, weeping as she begged in vain for him to live again. She'd been there when he'd been drowning in the pools of Julia's eyes, a tiny sad smile on her red lips. A secret, knowing smile. It had pulled him back from the icy embrace.

There had been one dream that had been different from all the others. He had been wandering the halls of the Bebop. The cold darkness had been suffocating, threatening to take him if he wasn't careful. There had been a flare of light in the shadows and as the glow receded he saw Faye standing by the ship's windows staring out at the stars, the cigarette in her hand casting a faint ruddy glow on her pale features. He had stood there and watched her for an eternity, the darkness hungry at his back, the faint glow of the stars before him, and…and Faye.

"Where are you?" she whispered.

"I'm right here."

She didn't hear him. "You're dead."

"No…"

"Why can't I let you go?"

A small smile had curved her lips, then. It was a sad, secret, knowing smile. She held up a small photograph he hadn't noticed her holding and gazed at it sadly. It was a shot of him and Jet laughing. They both looked so happy. When had that been taken? She traced his image with one finger silently.

"Faye…"

"I…" she began, still looking at the photo. "I miss you, Spike," she whispered to his image. And with that she took one final drag on her cigarette, dropped it to the floor and put it out.

The ever patient darkness swept over him like a tide, pulling him back into dreamless sleep.

Spike breathed the smoke from his lungs as he leaned back against the couch. It had been a long time since he'd been allowed to smoke. The people in the hospital had nearly had fits when he'd asked if anyone could spare one. Stingy bastards.

With a resigned sigh he stood carefully, still wary of his weakened state. Taking a long pull on his smoke, he began to shuffle down the cold hall towards his room. The ship _was _cold and Faye had found it in her heart to leave him with his pants, if not his shirt. He shivered.

He passed by her door and paused. No sound came from within. He stood watching the door silently for a few moments before reaching out to knock on its hard metal surface. The door slid open with a hiss before his fist had even touched the dark metal and he came face to face with a very tired, very bewildered looking Faye.

"Yo."

She peered up at him blearily. "Spike, are you all right?"

He shrugged. "Depends on your definition o f all right."

She looked at him again. "Jesus, Spike, it's freezing. What happened to your shirt?"

"You happened to my shirt," he said softly, poking her shoulder gently.

A guilty expression spread slowly across her soft features. "Oh… have you been out there the whole time?"

He nodded, leaning tiredly against the wall, a jaw cracking yawn turning his vocal affirmation into a sort of drawn out grunt. A small hiss escaped his lips as the cold from the wall bit at the exposed skin of this shoulder and he rubbed his arms gently.

"Do you…want to come in?"

Spike stared at her. Well wasn't that why he'd come in the first place? He rubbed the back of his neck.

"It's warm?" Faye lifted her shoulders to show him the blanket she had wrapped around herself as she prepared for the cold trek to the kitchen for a glass of water. Had she really just invited him into her room? What was she thinking! If he hadn't already figured it out, he was sure to get a clue now. He would use her own feelings against her for as long as he pleased. She fidgeted under his stare.

"Sure," he said after a long pause.

She stared at him, vaguely horrified at the notion of having him in her room, something that had never happened before. "Right…"

Spike followed Faye into her room and the door hissed shut behind them, leaving the room cloaked in darkness, with nothing but the silvery light of the stars to see by. Faye sat awkwardly on her bed, hugging her blanket around her shoulders.

"So…" she began awkwardly as Spike stood against the wall by the door. Why is he just standing there?

Spike shrugged.

Faye blinked up at him. "Do you…wanna sit down?" She gestured vaguely. "There's room…and…ah…" she trailed off.

Spike watched her for a moment before pushing off the wall and plopping himself down on the end of her bed. They sat in silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

A look of confusion marred Faye's features. "Talk about what?"

"What happened." Spike lifted his hand to poke Faye gently on the neck. "With Sanders."

Her eyes dropped to her lap. "Oh." She fidgeted. "What's there to talk about?"

One of Spike's shoulders raised and he stared past her out the window. "Dunno."

"Do you think," Faye began. "You think he'll come after us again?"

"You," Spike corrected. "And I dunno. Doesn't seem like the type to give up something he wants, though."

Faye shivered at the thought. She reached back behind her bed and felt around in the dark, finally coming up with a glass bottle. Twisting off the top, she took a wary sniff. Deciding it was safe, she offered it to Spike.

"Wanna drink?"

Spike looked at her for a moment before accepting the bottle and taking a long swallow.

"This stuff isn't going to solve your problems."

Faye snorted. "I know. Doesn't mean it won't help me forget about them for a while."

"You got your memories back, what is it that you want to forget so badly?"

She stared down into the bottle, surprised by how quickly the alcohol had gone to her head. And then she remembered the dinner she hadn't had. She looked back up at him blearily. "You."

Spike regarded her silently, the starlight painting his bandages a pale blue and playing over his smooth skin. There had been a subtle shift in the chemistry between him and Faye, even before that disastrous night. It had been tickling the back of his mind for a long time now, making him wonder where she stood, making him question where _he _stood. It was so easy to simply slip back behind his cynical defenses, to throw out a stinging insult to hide his own unsure footing. He wished she'd stop being so damned cryptic. He never had had much patience for puzzles.

He stood slowly. "It's late," he said softly, stifling a yawn. "We could both use the rest."

Faye gazed up at him clearly hurt that he'd simply brushed her statement aside like so much sand. "Fine," she muttered like one just on the verge of being drunk. "You don't care anyway."

Spike grabbed the bottle away from her just as she was about to take another drink and stumbled slightly, the alcohol, coupled with the length and intensity of his recent hospitalization, making him suddenly light headed. He set the bottle down on the table and dropped down on the edge of Faye's bed.

Faye's cool hands went to his shoulders as he sat heavily on her bed. "Maybe you'd better stay here," she said, shocked at her own words. "Because you're tired, I mean. You might fall, or something, on the way to your room…or something…"

Spike chuckled humorlessly at her words. "That'll be the day," he muttered.

"You stay here." Faye pushed him down against her pillow. "I'll take the couch," she said as she slid her legs over the side of her bed. "But if you go pawing through my things…" she added with some of her usual poison.

He sat up and put a hand on her arm. "Stay?"

Faye looked at him quizzically. "You want me to stay?"

"It's cold out there," he reasoned. "And it _is _warmer in here and there _is _room…" he gestured vaguely.

"I…ok…" Faye crawled back onto her bed, the slightly mystified look never quite leaving her features as she lay down beside him and slid under the covers. This was most unexpected.

With one last glance at the dark expanse of stars outside Faye's window, Spike slid down beside her, his mind still a little fuzzy so that his heart could hide the implications of this current arrangement for at least a little bit longer.

Faye stiffened a bit as she felt his strong arm snake around her waist, pulling her easily against the smooth expanse of his broad chest. The warmth of his body immediately began to soak through the thin fabric of her shirt. She had almost forgotten how good it felt to be close to another human being. Relaxing into his grip, Faye closed her eyes, a small smile spread across her lips.

Spike couldn't imagine how he had gotten himself into this situation. He couldn't imagine why it didn't bother him immensely that he was holding Faye in his arms as she slept and _in her bed._ And for some unfathomable reason, it felt good. And it felt good that it felt good. Spike yawned. Her hair smelled vaguely of jasmine.

Spike closed his eyes and for the first time in months he did not dream of his blue eyed angel from Hell.


	11. Celluloid Nightmare

**Midnight Blues**

**11. Celluloid Nightmare**

"_Tell me, Ms Green, do you trust me?"_

_The girl nodded, her big brown eyes glittering in the candle light. "Yes, Mr Locke."_

_He had been working on the girl for weeks, getting her to trust him, to devote herself to him. Ultimately, she hadn't been particularly hard to bend to his will, as susceptible to fine wine and gifts as any young lady, but he still considered every one of his "subject cases" to be a work of art, of exquisite care and devotion from beginning to end._

"_How much do you trust me?"_

_Her huge doe eyes gazed up at him adoringly and he knew he had her. "More'n anyone, Mr Locke."_

_He smiled down at her benevolently, one hand cupping her cheek. "Enough to trust me with your life?" It was very important that his subjects trust him, submitting themselves to him willingly. _

_She nodded vigorously. "Oh yes, Mr Locke," she oozed, eager to please. "My life is in your hands."_

_But she hadn't been so eager once she had seen his tools. No, they never were. It was all he could do to ignore all her incessant screaming. But he had persevered. She hadn't lasted nearly as long as he would have hoped, vigorous young creature that she was._

_Four hours later a sheen of sweat had formed on his brow and he wiped it away on the sleeve of his shirt. He was bloody to the elbows, flecks of blood and gore marring the perfect white of his clothing. _

_Two hazel eyes stared blindly up at the ceiling, their owner long ago having lost their use._

"_Oh what a shame," the smooth masculine voice whispered as it's owner slowly ran a finger along the young woman's soft cheek, leaving a sticky wet trail along her pale skin. "I was hoping you'd last a bit longer."_

_A slender and elegant hand arranged the woman's organs about her, its twin using a wickedly curved blade to further the grisly work. Long slashes covered the woman's body as slowly congealing blood continued to ooze from numerous wounds. Everything had to be laid out just so…_

_He stood back and admired his work. Ever the precise artist, he had placed everything exactly in the right place as he had countless times before, the blue snakes of the young woman's intestines curving in intricate designs around her pale body, her heart lying naked and detached in her empty chest cavity, clean white ribs gleaming in the candle light. He reached in and took the still warm heart in his hand, squeezing gently and watching in rapt fascination as thick dark blood oozed down over his slightly flushed skin. He could feel the whisperer's all around him, sighing to him the meaning in the carnage._

"_Oh interesting… how very interesting indeed."_

Faye stirred, her mind still pleasantly muddled from sleep. She didn't want to move. This was her favorite part of the day, when her bed was warm and cozy and her position just right so as to maximize physical comfort. She stretched and yawned blinking sleepily up at the cold bare ceiling of her little room. She had awoken from the most pleasant sleep, refusing to open her eyes lest the trailing wisps of her dream fade away completely. She had been lying…somewhere. Spike had been there, too. She could still feel his body wrapped around her, could still feel his warmth as her mind slowly rose out of its sleepy fog.

The feeling stirred behind her and she blinked down at the source of the sensation. Sure enough there was an arm wrapped firmly around her waist holding her where she lay. A tiny flutter in the pit of her stomach greeted the sight. It seemed that she hadn't been dreaming after all. Quietly and with great care Faye released herself from his grip, making sure not to disturb him as he lay beside her breathing softly.

She paused to regard him. How different he looked in his sleep, how much more at ease. A small frown creased his brow as she pulled away, a low murmur escaping his slightly parted lips. Once she would have made sure that he had a most unpleasant awakening. Once she would have taken great pleasure in disturbing his sleep. That had been the same time she would have cut and run with all their cash and not have thought twice about it. That had been before.

With a jaw cracking yawn, Faye slipped out of her room, leaving Spike to sleep away the afternoon. _God knows he could use the rest_, she thought to herself as she padded down the hall.

Jet sat at the kitchen table, his hand curled around a cup of coffee.

"Mornin'," Faye mumbled as she shuffled into the room. "Any more coffee?"

Jet grunted, gesturing behind him vaguely. Faye frowned, but made her way over and poured herself a cup. Her frown deepened.

"Jet, this is cold."

He muttered distractedly and she noticed that there was no steam rising from his cup.

"Jet, is everything ok?"

"Yeah, uh huh," he replied, obviously preoccupied with something. "Where's Spike?" he asked, looking at her for the first time.

"Sleeping."

Jet's frown increased. "He's not in his room, or on the couch."

Faye considered her cold coffee, clearing her throat before replying. "He's in my room."

There was a long pause. "He's in your room?"

"Yeah." She watched sadly as her attempt at nonchalance failed miserably.

Jet gave her a strange look before shrugging. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know. I have no opinion," he muttered uncomfortably.

She pulled a chair out across from him at the table. "Why don't you tell me what's bothering you, then."

This seemed to be the last thing Jet wanted to do. He rubbed his bald head. "I…ah…"

"Jet." She looked him straight in the eye. "Talk to me."

"I just remembered I had to fix…something," he said as he pushed back from the table abruptly.

Faye stared at him. "Jet…"

"It can wait," he said, tiredly. "Spike isn't strong enough, yet, and you…you'll just..."

"It's him isn't it?"

Jet stopped at the door, his shoulders seeming to slump a little.

Faye sat back in her chair. "Do you know where he is?"

"Faye," Jet began softly. "Don't do anything stupid." He turned and regarded her silently for a moment. "We nearly lost you to him once. Losing you again…" His eyes dropped to the floor. "He needs you, Faye." Her eyes snapped to his back. "I don't know if he knows it, but he needs you."

Faye stared unblinkingly at the spot where Jet had just been, her brows furrowed deeply. She stood quickly and followed Jet out of the kitchen, her cold coffee long forgotten on the table. She found him seated on the couch in the common room smoking, his eyes closed, his countenance troubled.

"Jet."

He took a long drag on his cigarette, inhaling deeply and then letting go, releasing the smoke in one long uninterrupted stream.

"Where is he?"

Jet shrugged. "He killed a girl in Aruba City," he said carefully. "But the authorities have no idea where he is now. They think he might be hiding out in New Paris. Could be anywhere on Mars."

Faye's brows knit together thoughtfully as she listened to her friend speak. "Are they sure he's on Mars?"

He nodded wearily.

"Don't tell Spike," she said, looking down at him.

Jet raised an eyebrow.

"You know why not." She leaned forward, her face deadly serious. "Don't tell him."

Jet shrugged. "It's not Spike I'm worried about," he said looking up at her meaningfully. "Just promise you won't do anything rash."

Faye regarded him silently for a moment. "You know I can't," she whispered.

"Yeah," he muttered resignedly. "And I know I can't stop you, either. Stubborn idiots, the both of you, always wanting to run off and get yourselves killed."

Faye sat on the yellow couch in silence as she watched Jet get up and walk out of the room. He looked so tired, so old. A pang of quilt lanced through her. Jet had become a father to her. She leaned back and closed her eyes, remembering the hurt and the betrayal and the something else that had crushed her when Spike had walked away from them. And now she was about to do the same thing.

Her eyes prickled with the first signs of oncoming tears and she shoved them away. She was finally beginning to understand why Spike had gone, why he had abandoned them. She found it didn't make his leaving any less painful.

The halls of the Bebop were cold and empty as she made her way back to her room. Spike was still asleep on her bed when she crept inside, her heart set and determined. Quickly slipping into her usual yellow vinyl, she lifted the Glock from her bed stand, shoving it into the waistband of her pants. He stirred as she began tossing various things into a large blue duffel bag on the floor.

"Hey," he murmured, his fluffy green hair partially obscuring his eyes. "What're you doing?" he asked sleepily as he peered at her over a pile of bedding.

"I have to go," she said, refusing to meet his eyes.

He watched her for a moment silently all signs of sleepiness gone. "Where?"

"Away."

Spike slid off the bed to stand over her. "No."

"What do you mean _no_?" She straightened to squint up at him. There was a strange look in his mismatched eyes.

"You're not leaving...this ship."

She glared up at him, his demanding tone rubbing her the wrong way. "Watch me."

"I know what you're going to do, and I'm not going to let you go."

"Oh I see how it is. It's all ok when _you _want to go waltzing off to _find yourself,_ but when _I _want to—"

"Shut up, Faye, for once in your life. I _had _a reason for—"

"So do I!"

"Bull shit," he snarled, advancing on her. "You're not leaving. I don't care if I have to tie you up—"

She pulled her gun and glared up at him coldly, her heart breaking as she aimed the weapon at his chest. "Try it."

Spike stared down at her, his eyes narrowed as he eyed the gun in her hand. He reached out and grasped the barrel of her gun, bringing it to bear on his own head. "Do it," he whispered.

Faye wanted to scream as her gaze locked with his. _Please, Spike, don't…_

"Hypocrite."

She blinked up at him and her expression became confused.

"You've done nothing but give me shit since I came back, and now _you're_ leaving. You're following in my footsteps." The tension left his shoulders as he watched her and he seemed somehow diminished. "I'd be proud if I didn't already know how the story ends," he said quietly.

Her arm dropped, letting the gun dangle at her side. "Then you know I can't stay," she said softly as she held his gaze.

He stepped towards her again, running a calloused thumb along her jaw. "I know," he whispered, his eyes speaking the volumes he knew he could never say. Dipping his head, he placed a lingering kiss on her lips, tasting her.

Faye was at a loss. She could feel her heart shattering as his lips pressed softly against her own. She wanted nothing more than to simply melt against him, to wrap her arms around him and never let go. And that, she realized, was why she had to leave. With agonizing slowness, she pushed him away. Her hand drifted to her lips where she could still feel the imprint of his lips burning. Her gaze floated across his face to the bandage at his shoulder and the white bandages wrapped around his middle.

"Spike, I have to go," she whispered searching dark garnet his eyes.

He looked somehow defeated. "You're making a mistake."

A small sad smile crept across her lips. "It's my mistake to make," she said and turned, walking out of the dark room.

Spike sat numbly on Faye's cold bed and lit a much needed cigarette. The stupid woman was going to get herself killed. But what did he care? The emptiness inside him answered the silent question. The wound in his side began to ache dully and he covered it with a warm hand.

This wasn't right. _He _was the one who was supposed to deal with Sanders. _He _was the one who should be risking his life to protect the Bebop. _He _was the one who was supposed protect _Faye_.

He found Jet with his bonsai, sitting and staring at the tiny silvery leaves.

"Jet."

Jet grunted.

"I have to go."

Jet searched the foliage of his bonsai as if they had all the answers and all he had to do was find them. "…I see."

"She's gone, Jet."

Jet finally turned tired eyes upon his younger friend. "I know."

Spike glared at his old partner, anger rising within him. "You knew, and you didn't do anything? You didn't try to stop her?"

"You couldn't stop her, Spike. Do you really think _I_ could have?" He turned back to the bonsai vacantly. "I couldn't have stopped you, either."

Spike's expression softened. "Jet…"

"It's not my place, Spike. It's not your's either. Especially not you."

Spike mulled over Jet's words in silence for a few long moments. "I'm going after her."

Jet looked up at him from the corner of his eye. "Good."

Spike raised a dark brow at his friend.

Jet shrugged. "She can't get mad at me for sending you if you decided to go all by yourself," he replied simply, rubbing his head. "You'd better come home."

Home. Yeah, this probably was home. A lopsided smile edged across Spike's darkly handsome features and he pushed away from the wall he had been leaning against. "I always do…eventually."

-------

"_It seems," the velvety dark voice whispered as once lively hazel eyes stared up at the ceiling. They had begun to cloud over. "That we will be having company quite soon." _

_The man placed a soft kiss on the girl's cold lips as he ran his hands through her soft brown hair. It had become matted with blood in several places. He kissed her neck softly as he buried his hands in her body, the warmth of her blood sending small shivers down his spine._

_The voices continued to whisper as he took his pleasure. It was a most amazing feeling, to have more inside her than just his hands._

_All he had to do was wait and she would find her way to him, like a moth to the flame. So the whispers told him._

Spike felt a pang of guilt, the Bebop dropping away behind him as he turned the Swordfish towards Mars once more. Jet was all alone now. Before Faye had been there, and Ed, for a while. Now there was no one. Now Jet was all that was left.

Faye was long gone, but he knew where she was going. He had grown up on Mars, been raised by her streets, raised under that red sky, by men who dealt in red and silver and steel and knew nothing of mercy. Mars had made him who he was, what he was. He had thought he was finished with the red planet, but it seemed she held him closer to her heart than he had anticipated. Mars wasn't finished with Spike Spiegel just yet.

Jet watched from the bridge of the Bebop as the Swordfish disappeared in a glint of starlight. He sighed. It echoed. Everything echoed. He dropped a pen. It echoed. He walked down the hall. His footsteps echoed. He was truly alone now, his life reduced to an echo.

But it had never been Jet's style to mope around, never having been one to feel sorry for himself. There was no point in starting now. He would just have to deal with it, just like he always had.

A pained groan slipped from his lips as he sat by his bonsai forest, his back protesting loudly. Damn his joints, but he was, after all, getting old. His friends had left him for the last time, empty promises on their lips as they turned their backs on him. What had he expected? There was nothing for Faye Valentine on a rickety old ship like the Bebop. She had probably just used Sanders as an excuse to leave. She would find herself some rich husband and swindle him blind. There was even less for Spike on the aging fishing vessel. He'd always been a restless one and Jet had known that it would only be a matter of time before his ghosts would catch up to him. Although as to which ghost of the past Spike had gone off chasing this time, Jet was at a loss.

Maybe they'd come back. Maybe Faye really was going after Sanders, maybe it was _her _past that had torn her away. Jet snorted. And _maybe_ Spike was chasing his _future_ for a change He shook his head as he examined his little trees. Unlikely, not that he cared much either way. Those two had been nothing but trouble, always whining and complaining, taking up his space, eating his food, ruining his peace and quiet. He was an old man, he needed his quiet…

He watched as a slender branch fell from one of his trees, snipped by the sharp blades of his pruning sheers. _Damn…too close…_ He inspected the tree's wound carefully and set down his sheers. It was no good.It was _too _quiet.

Maybe he'd go back to Ganymede. He could retire there, maybe start up that restaurant he'd always dreamed of owning. Yeah, that would be nice…

----

Faye leaned back comfortably against the well polished bar watching couples dancing to a soft meringue. She had been on Mars for nearly two weeks and had found no sign of her quarry. The ice in the cosmopolitan in her hand clinked as she lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip.

A dark haired woman standing just to the side of the elegantly dressed band in a pool of light began to sing in a low sultry voice. _"I wish a falling star could fall forever…And sparkle through the clouds and stormy weather…"_

Faye made a face and took another gulp of her drink. Next time she'd order something stiffer. That was the problem with music.

"_And in the darkness of the night_

_The star would shine a glimmering light_

_And hover above for love…"_

There was always a song that said exactly what you didn't want to hear.

"_Please hold me close and whisper that you love me_

_And promise that your dreams are only of me._

_When you are near everything's clear_

_Earth is a beautiful heaven._

_Always I hope that we follow the star and be forever floating above..."_

The dancers whirled gracefully on the dance floor, their shoes clicking in time to the beat as Faye tapped her glass along with the tempo in spite of herself.

"_I know a falling star can't fall forever…"_

Faye grimaced and drained her glass, rapping the bar sharply to get the bartender's attention.

"_But let's never stop falling in love…"_

She gestured for a second drink and soon there was a fresh glass in her hand, the rosy pink liquid glinting invitingly. The soft music washed over her and she looked down into her drink.

"_I know a falling star can't fall forever, _

_But let's never stop falling in love, no let's never stop falling in love…"_

The woman's velvety voice trailed off and the band took over, the music swelling as the rhythm and the softly playing trumpets melting together, dancers performing a few last turns on the dimly lit dance floor. The song ended and the dancers applauded the band, several couples drifting away to their own little private corners, others staying by for the next dance.

But Faye had had enough. For twelve days she had systematically followed every lead, every whisper as to the whereabouts of her prey, but each path had ended in a cold dark wall. A dead end.

Sometimes she wondered about Jet and how he was getting along. She had been meaning to contact him, if only to let him know she was still alive, but she had never known quite what to say. But it was time to go. This lead had failed her just like all the others. With a sigh, she downed the rest of her drink, dropping a few crumpled bills on the bar and made her way out of the smoky jazz club.

The chill air made her shiver as she pulled her long black jacket around her more closely. She'd try again tomorrow. She always tried again tomorrow.

She hailed a cab and slid into the back seat, the name of her hotel sliding from her lips like so much silk. The cabbie took her direction silently and pulled out into the dark street.

The hotel doorman greeted her at the grand entrance with a nod and she brushed past him, the sweeping elegance and plush furnishings going completely unnoticed. She stepped into an elevator done in gold and cream, plush carpeting muffling her steps. The young bellhop took her to the eighth floor and she made her way wearily to her room, sliding the key card in the door and slipping inside.

The room was just as she'd left it. Cold and empty. With a tired sigh, she sat at the mahogany table beside the sweeping windows, her head dropping into her hands. There was a blinking light on the hotel telephone.

Her brow furrowed. She called down to the front desk.

"_Oh yes," _a man's voice responded to her query. _"There is a message for you at the font desk." _

Faye frowned. Nobody knew where she was. Who would have left her a message? "A message? From who?"

The man cleared his throat uncomfortably. _"Monsieur did not say, madam. Shall I have the message sent up to your room?"_

Why the hell not? "Sure," she said wearily.

"_Yes, madam. Very good, madam. Demetri will be up in a moment."_

Faye thanked the man and dropped the receiver back onto its stand. She rather liked the old style telephones in the hotel. Whoever had been in charge of décor must have had a love for the old century. The place was practically dripping with 1920s elegance. She had chosen the place for that very reason. It reminded her of how Earth used to be, even though she hadn't been alive then. She felt as if at any moment she could walk into one of those ancient romantic black and white movies where the men were always suave and sophisticated with a cigarette and a glass of brandy close at hand and the women were soft and beautiful in that classic sort of way. She allowed a small smile to cross her lips, recalling that somehow, they always got caught up with the mob. Maybe things weren't so different after all.

Sometimes she wished the world really was all black and white, so you were never left wondering, never left grasping at grays. But then again, the grays had always leant depth to those old black and whites.

There was a soft rap on the door and she found a young man in a black suit standing in the hall, a complimentary bottle of wine in one hand, and an elegant cream colored envelope in the other. It was sealed with gold wax.

Faye stared at the envelope for a moment. Thanking the young man, she closed the door with a quiet _click_ and returned to the dark wood table before pouring herself a glass of wine. She fingered the thick expensive paper of the envelope on the table as she eyed the seal. The golden wax had been pressed into an intricate sunburst.

With a slightly shaking hand, she broke the seal. Inside was folded a plain but heavy sheet of white paper with three short lines of writing.

_Friday six o'clock_

_La Casa Blanca_

_Wear black._

Faye's eyes scanned the message again as if searching for something she'd missed. There was no illusion in her mind as to who had sent her the message. La Casa Blanca? He had to be kidding. He was toying with her. It looked like she'd get to step into her old black and white after all.

It was Thursday night. She still had some time to prepare. This time, she wasn't going to succumb so easily. This time, she'd be ready.

With one swift motion she dialed the front desk. "I'll need a car for tomorrow night… ah, yes… six o'clock…La Casa Blanca…Thank you, Andre."

She sat back in her chair. So she'd make him wait a bit. _Let him itch,_ she thought darkly. She went quickly to her duffel and pulled out the slinky black dress she had worn so long ago. The silky hiss of the fabric on her skin reminding her of the little Italian restaurant Spike had taken her to.

A tiny frown creased her brow. Spike. She could feel a little of her determination slip as she remembered the pain in his eyes when she'd left. Her jaw clenched. He'd felt no remorse when _he'd _left, no guilt at the pain in _her _eyes. No, she would deal with Sanders first, and then she'd…she'd what, go back? Say, 'Ok, Spike. I can love you now'?

With a grimace she pushed Spike from her mind. It was time to end the hunt. This was her game now and Sanders was the prey.

------

_So that's where you're hiding…_ Spike crouched on the roof of a tall building on the south side of upscale New Denmark City, a pair of high powered binoculars in his hands as he watched Faye moving about in her upper class hotel suite. It had taken him much longer than he'd anticipated to track her down, moving from city to city asking the same questions and getting the same answers. She was always one step ahead of him, keeping a low profile, asking minimal questions. She'd been a good girl, and it was making his life difficult.

How she had managed to pay for that suite, though, was something he'd probably never know.

With a self satisfied smirk, Spike hopped down from his perch and sauntered over to where the Swordfish sat, gleaming in the moonlight. He'd finally found her, and now that he had, he would be keeping a very close eye on her. There was no point in letting her know he was there, however, after all, Sanders still had a rather hefty bounty on his head and he was just a _slightly_ above average bounty hunter. The thought broadened his grin.

He had been a very busy boy. While he had mainly been trying to locate Faye and learning that she had been asking quite a lot of questions, he had been asking quite a few of his own. Unfortunately, the only thing he had discovered was that Faye had become very, very good at covering her tracks and that no one had . Lighting up a cigarette, he blew a cloud of smoke up into the night sky. But he had found her, and that had to account for something, right?

------

There was a loud crash and the hollow sound of a piece of metal spinning to a stop on the cold metal floor and then silence. Jet sat frozen on a work bench, a wrench held poised above a tricky gadget in a panel on the side of the Hammerhead.

"Hello?"

Silence answered him. He had landed on Ganymede about a week ago to restock and refuel and catch up with some old acquaintances and now he was simply retuning a lot of the old equipment, not really wanting to stay, but not wanting to leave, either.

There was an odd snuffling sound from the corner and then nothing.

"Spike?"

Jet set down his wrench, thought better of it, and picked it up again. Whatever it was didn't sound particularly friendly. Slowly, and as silently as he could manage, which as it happened was pretty damn silent, he crept towards the corner of the hangar from where the strange sounds had come.

It was probably nothing. He was probably just hearing things, having been alone in an empty ship for so long. It was just his imagination, a trick of the wind, or something. He thought he could hear something shuffling in the shadows and he strained his entire being trying to see what it was. If it was one of those damn huge rats again… His mind lit on the memory of that lobster gone horribly, horribly wrong and he shoved that thought away with a grimace. He'd cleaned every inch of the ship after that unfortunate incident, and had spent hours lecturing Spike and Faye about stashing food and forgetting about it like a pair of damn idiot squirrels.

The thought of Spike and Faye brought him up short and he momentarily forgot why he was lurking in the shadows with a wrench. They'd been gone for weeks and neither of them had bothered to contact him. He shrugged, resuming his hunt. It didn't matter. They were both adults, although sometimes he doubted it. They had their reasons.

There was a furtive movement in the shadows and Jet lunged for the perpetrator. There was an unholy shriek and a yelp followed by growling and the sound of tearing cloth.

"What the—" Jet grunted as something heavy landed on his chest, the little demon that had attached itself to his leg still growling menacingly as it tore at his pants.

Two enormous glowing eyes peered down at him through the gloom. "Jet-person! It is Eeeeeedward!"

Bewildered, Jet took a closer look at the creature that had perched itself on his chest. Sure enough, once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could make out the wild red hair, the narrow stick-like body and the enormous grin. The beast attached to his leg seemed to shrink, becoming a furry little dog. It was drooling all over his pants.

The little dog gave a sharp bark and scurried off into the darkness, his little nails clicking frantically on the metal floor.

Ed twisted her body and peered after the little dog. "Eeeein?"

Jet peered up at Ed as she sat on his chest. "Ed…" He was at a loss for words. "Why…Where…How did you find me?" He settled for the most glaringly irrelevant question.

The grin snapped back on to the hacker girl's face and she cackled. "Ed followed!" she sang. She leaned down and peered closely at Jet. "Jet-person left _loads _of bready crumbs for Edward to follow." She frowned suddenly, her eyes searching the hangar. "Where is all the bread?" Her stomach made a loud gurgling noise. "Ed is hungry."

* * *

_Hey guys! So I'm back in school and I don't know how often I'll be able to update, but I'm feeling the inspiration coming back, so I should be able to keep on updateing, if not as regularly as I might like. Chemistry is a bitch like that, you know? Thanks for all the great feedback. You guys rock. If anyone has any comments or suggestions, _please_ let me know. I always love a little constructive critisism. Sweetness. Love you all! R&R!_


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